


Release from the Chains

by Zevgirl



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Consensual Kink, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, consensual sub/dom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 119,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zevgirl/pseuds/Zevgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-explosive end game. Finola Hawke lost most of her family to death and her sister to the Grey Wardens. Her friends were all she had left, and the citizens of Kirkwall wanted her as their Viscountess. She, however, wanted something that had eluded her grasp for years. The love of an exiled prince.  But not everything was meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If Only

**Author's Note:**

> _  
> **Disclaimer -**   
> _   
> _All characters, settings, etc. belong to Bioware and the Dragon Age franchise._

"Anders betrayed my trust, making an even bigger mockery of our association. All of Kirkwall sits in judgment of me now." Finola threw herself back against the couch and then stole a glance at Sebastian as they took a moment to relax in the makeshift chapel that was her estate's library. The roaring fire warmed the damp air breezing in through the open windows, but still, she shivered.

"Yes, and you're _still_ their Champion, Finola, and they _still_ want you to be Viscountess, or have you forgotten that?" Unfolding a piece of cloth, he began to wipe off a mud smear from his chest piece.

"I don't want to discuss politics right now." Sebastian's friendly reminder made her a bit nauseous. " _Anyway_ , I thought we shared something special. I really did grow to love him, you know."

Sebastian's head sprang up, his eyes large as two moons. "You were in love with him?" he blurted. Then his shoulders dropped and he let out a heavy sigh.

"Are you serious?" Her eyebrows tightened, drawn together as a bemused smirk twisted her lips.

"Well, you said you loved him, and I've never heard you say that about anyone, except your family."

Over the years, she had intentionally ignored Anders' flirtatious remarks as well as Isabela's come-ons, knowing that Sebastian would not approve, hoping he would see her efforts to dissuade them.

"Maker's breath. You bloody men are all the same."

She thought back to another particularly gloomy afternoon two years prior, when Sebastian and Finola sat by the same hearth and nibbled on cheese and bread while they pored over some ancient religious documents. That was the day Sebastian had decided to test the waters.

He had come across a description explaining the elements of a chaste marriage, one similar to his grandfather's, after his grandmother had died, of course. As he spoke the details, Finola desperately tried to hold back the cackles rising in her throat. Washing down the last bite of her snack with some honeyed wine, she had closed her eyes and thanked the Maker Isabela wasn't around for this particular oration.

When she could take no more, she vocally scoffed at the idea of becoming a sister and living by the laws of the Chantry in a pure marriage. Her disdain had grown bawdier by the minute, and Sebastian seethed. When she had realized just how serious he was, she came to a full stop and apologized, but it was too late. Mocking Sebastian and his faith was an egregious blunder, but she thought a marriage such as that, living apart, devoid of sexual contact, would only confirm and strengthen his dedication as a brother; it would make things easier for him and impossible for her. She didn't get the chance to express those thoughts to Sebastian though. After her cheeky rant, he had stormed off, and then avoided her for a week, the subject never broached again. She had thought their friendship was over.

Finola was wrong. Sebastian had remained at her side, as her friend, her brother-in-arms, and sometimes, her confessor. She couldn't have been happier. And here he was now, poised next to her on the couch, again, the indent of his armor forever molded into the cushion.

She shifted around to face the man she had fallen in love with. "Maker, Sebastian. Not _in_ love, but Anders was one of my dearest friends. I loved him the same way I love all of you." Her eyes pinched close for a split second. _Damn it. Perhaps not the best way to phrase that._

Sebastian's spontaneous smile was brief, but she noticed. "Yes, of course. I spoke to soon… well, I hope you know that all your friends love you as well, Finola."

_All my friends, you say?_ She tore off an uneven piece of fingernail and stared at the floor. "I'm not so sure."

Sebastian was always present in her thoughts, waking and otherwise, even in the heat of battle. She protected him at all costs, rallying to the archer's side before any other in their party. Over the years, her love for him had changed from warm and friendly to passionate and adoring, and everyone seemed to know of her unspoken love, everyone except Sebastian.

Her plan had been simple enough, though perhaps an exercise in futility. She thought she could draw him away from his vows as his faith seemed continually shaken, and she labored to change his mind whenever the opportunity arose, using his occasional weakness as a weapon to win him. His dedication frustrated her. It also amused and challenged her how impenetrable he seemed, but she was single-minded when it came to the success of her harmless scheme; every methodically constructed conversation would add up, and the reward would be beyond measure.

" _Oh, your fingers. I never knew they were so calloused. Does it hurt?" she asked, taking his hand in hers, and squeezing just once as she smiled at him._

" _Oh no. Years of archery have made me immune to such pain. But Hawke, your hands are not much better." He held open the front door of her estate where their friends were to meet to discuss the Qunari situation._

_She looked down at her open palms, rough from years of swordplay. "I guess you're right. Hm. Should I thank you for pointing that out?" she muttered._

_Sebastian smiled. "If you wish, I can give you some salve archers use to smooth those calluses."_

" _Oh, that would be helpful. My mother used to say you could always tell a well-bred woman by the softness of her hands," she sighed. Finola shook her head, clearing it of the memories. "Anyway Sebastian, do you regret staying here for so long?"_

" _Regret is a strong word, Hawke. And the wrong word. I have actually enjoyed my time here, fighting and chasing the chaos from Kirkwall... even praying in the Chantry has been quite fulfilling. Besides, who would listen to your ranting and raving if I left?"_

" _Hmph, true enough, but have you enjoyed the company? I know you haven't seen eye to eye with Isabela at times, and… Anders. But the rest of us are pretty even-tempered. Right?"_

" _Ha! You are not as laid-back as you would like everyone to believe."_

" _Well, at least it's always exciting with me around."_

" _Yes, you are unlike any woman I have ever known, Hawke."_

" _That's a good thing, I hope."_

" _Oh yes, a very good thing."_

" _Why Sebastian, are you flirting with me?"_

" _What? No, I just... Hawke, you're trying to make me blush, trying to make me… uncomfortable."_

" _I am, and it worked! But please, Sebastian, why don't you to call me by my first name for once. After all, I'm a woman, not a bird of prey."_

_Sebastian's head tipped to the side with a small grin. "You're right... Finola."_

_His spoken word - her name - rolled off his tongue with a smile and washed over her like a stirring wave, like the thrill of the first snowflakes of winter on her cheeks. If only he wasn't married to his beloved Chantry, married to the vows he had taken as a younger man, forced to atone for the wicked ways of his youth. But how wicked had he been?_

" _Sebastian, you've not spoken much of your younger years. Were you as reckless and debauched as you've intimated?" A wiggle of her eyebrows yielded a displeased glance in her direction, but she kept smirking anyway._

" _Oh, yes. And then some." He let go a low chuckle, finding it hard not to be charmed by her sassiness. "Drunken brawls, gambling away my inheritance, loveless affairs in the dead of night, giving myself to any woman who looked my way. I was quite the prize." His cheeks reddened at the thought of those days._

" _Any stories you wish to share?" For the love of Andraste, she wanted this man. Finola rubbed her hands together in anticipation, keenly aware of the alluring smirk turning up her lips._

" _Hawke, er Finola, will you stop that?" he admonished, shaking his head. "Surely you can't be interested to hear of my past."_

" _Oh yes I am! Why so shy? Does it bother you to talk of your racy lifestyle?"_

" _Previously racy lifestyle." His brows narrowed, his mind working to understand her motives. "Well, I suppose I can share some stories… with you alone though. I don't want our companions to hear any of what I tell you. Understood?"_

" _Yes, messere. I understand," she purred._

" _I mean it, Finola. I know how persuasive Isabela and Varric can be after a few drinks."_

_A long, pale finger slowly dipped from the top of her right breast, down and across to her left breast and back up again to the other side as she traced an 'x' on her chest. "Cross my heart." She noticed his eyes widen before he averted his gaze._

_Sebastian cleared his throat. "First, let me say that I do not condone this manner of behavior."_

" _Of course not," she giggled._

" _Look, if you're going to make fun of me-"_

" _No! No, I'm sorry. I was just teasing. Continue, please."_

She hardly felt guilt for using such unsophisticated trickery to steal him from the Maker's side. What little remorse she had was simply a result of her plan, not worth much consideration, and done for the sake of love. To win his heart, his body, and his soul, she would do anything.

And anything included driving a dagger into the spine of one of the best healers she had ever seen, a man who was as a brother to her, one of her most cherished friends. She suffered overwhelming regret because of that one fatal action and it tore at her core, but Finola knew it would be worth it in the end if she could claim the exiled prince as her own.

However, Sebastian knew nothing of this. Finola had never said the words, never told him how deep her love for him truly was. Every decision she made appeared right and just to him, for the benefit of the people of Kirkwall. Sebastian had no doubt that her choices were meant to protect, heal, and rebuild, not to serve the romantic whims of a love struck woman. Yes, she was quirky and flirtatious, sometimes aloof and often deadly, but under her armor, when she wasn't aware of his gaze upon her, all he saw was a genuinely kind and caring person, one who thought of everyone but herself, a perfect example for a life devoted to the Chantry.

Her strategy had fallen short and was in need of recalculation. As he was more often a man of words than actions, she realized that if she continued her coy flirting yet remained emotionally detached, her snare might never spring.

As Sebastian shifted next to her and stared into the hearth, his blue eyes absorbed the orange glow of the firelight, rendering them grey and cheerless. He turned to her. "Finola, I do believe Anders loved you as well, in his own way."

She sighed. "I don't know. He didn't tell me his plan. If he had trusted me with his torment, maybe then… ah, but what does it matter now. Elthina's blood is on my hands, too."

"No!" Sebastian's voice grew stern, his eyes dark with bitterness. "Anders acted alone, Finola. I could say the same about myself, but I know in my heart that I bear no responsibility for the act of one fanatical apostate. It was no more your fault than mine."

"Then why do I feel so guilty? Poor Elthina, she was like a mother to you, one of so many innocents who died on that day. And any hope of the mages and templars finding some sort of peace has gone up in smoke with the Chantry. Kirkwall is a mess; it will _never_ be the same again."

"You cannot take the blame for _any_ of this. It was a civil war, created by greed and a desire for absolute power. You tried to make peace. You didn't take a side until you were forced to, and even so, you attempted to save as many lives as you could, be those the lives of templars or mages. You did the only honorable thing a person could do under the circumstances."

"What honor is there in any of this?" The mere thought of Anders brought tears to her eyes. "Sebastian, I did as _you_ asked, as they _all_ wanted me to do. I killed my good friend, without mercy."

"You had no choice." His hand sliced through the incense-laden air of the makeshift chapel in the library. "Both sides demanded his blood."

"Yes, and they certainly got plenty more afterwards. The streets ran red for days." Finola shook her head and sighed. "But you're right about one thing. In my mind, I didn't have a choice. But what if I _had_ let him go? Allowed him find his own destiny, and damn the consequences?"

By the grace of the Maker, Sebastian was not in the Chantry the moment it exploded, and he had been quick to ask her if she'd hesitate to kill Anders had he perished along with Elthina. In reality, she would have slaughtered the entire city had Sebastian died that day. And had she let Anders live, Sebastian would have departed for Starkhaven, and that was the one and only consequence that truly mattered to Finola in the end, so she killed Anders in cold blood.

"He would have fought with the mages, most likely trying to kill _you_ before you had to slay him in self defense. If you spend your time regretting these past weeks, and worrying over what might happen tomorrow, you will have no today in which to live. What matters is that you move on, Finola, you learn and grow from this experience."

"Maker, I hate when you're right, Sebastian. Is that some paraphrased Chant of Light drivel?" As quick as the words tumbled from her lips, her hand shot up and clapped over her mouth for a moment.

"No, it is not." Sebastian eyes pinned hers with disapproval, but then softened as an apologetic grin spread across her face. "It's just the reality of life now, for all of us. All things are as the Maker intends them to be."

As had happened on so many occasions over the years, Sebastian's constant internal fortitude and insightful words had eased her mind, and her sorrow. His faith was strong, personal, and very valuable, even to those not as dedicated as he was.

"Why must reality be so difficult?" Finola's head moved forward, compelled to show her gratitude with fewer meaningless words. "You're a wise man, Sebastian."

She brushed her thumb along the side of Sebastian's jaw, an index finger propped under his chin, and she gently pushed his head to expose his right cheek. She moved closer, a nearness that only happened on the odd occasion, sometimes during a flurry of excitement as they stood back to back assessing a group of mercenaries. Their heads would turn at once, ear to ear for a quick statement of their next move as adrenaline raced through their veins, and then they would split apart, his arrows flying as her blades slashed and spun.

This was so undeniably different. The moment her lips touched his face, seconds may as well have been hours. He remained frozen, even as his pulse quickened and she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His eyes closed as she allowed her lips to linger for the briefest of moments. Her hair smelled of roses and almond milk, a heady and delightful aroma.

This close to him, his natural musk competed with the incense floating in the air, and it overwhelmed her senses. She smelled a hint of witch hazel and allspice on his smooth skin; perhaps a balm to sooth his flesh after having shaved with a straight blade. A piercing gaze revealed her obvious desire, her wish for more lay bare before him as her thumb traced gentle circles on his cheek. Staring into the depth of his eyes, she waited for a reaction, her breathing becoming more ragged and heavy in the face of probable rejection.

Sebastian's stomach fluttered as she pulled her head back, her intent look begging him to accept what she offered. He was elated and crushed in the same instant, once again questioning the vows that echoed through his head every time he had thought of her as something more than a pleasant companion. _What has this woman done to me? Was Elthina right to doubt me?_ Elthina's words haunted his thoughts and stabbed at his heart. "People serve the Maker in many ways, Sebastian. You don't need to take vows to do His work." _Could she have been right all along, about everything?_

He stayed his right hand, pressing it to the couch, digging his fingers into the soft velvet cushion to keep from grabbing a fistful of her golden hair and pulling her face to his. Her lips were plump and moist, her mouth slightly agape, waiting for him to make the next move.

In another lifetime, perhaps a fit of passion would overwhelm him and he would take what he longed for, releasing the hidden desire that had tugged at every fiber of his being in recent months. He repressed the temptation every time, repeating the Chant until his eyes closed and he saw nothing but the white light of divinity. But always, always the light faded to visions of _her_ ; finding homes for orphans, defending her friends at all costs, arguing vehemently about freedom for mages and not letting the templars reign supreme, or slaying those who threatened peace in the city that called her Champion.

And sometimes, in his dreams, there were even lovelier images of her: praying quietly in the Chantry, snoring softly as she napped on her favorite chair, laughing aloud as she sang off key in the tavern, or teasing him mercilessly about his brogue.

_At one time, I was free to follow my whims, to laugh and love where I chose_ , he thought _._ But no, not now, and certainly not when her wounds were still so fresh, not when what she needed most was a friend and confidante to quell her confusion, and certainly not when he needed to address the issues in Starkhaven, and soon. No, he would never take advantage of her grief and ruin the friendship he had so carefully nurtured. _Sweet Andraste, give me the strength to end this madness…_

"Finola," he whispered. "Please, don't do this to yourself…"

A heated flush crept from her neck to her cheeks. "Me? What is _wrong_ with you?" Her eyes dropped to her lap, and she found herself folding her hands together into a tight ball in the awkward silence. "Tch, just forget it." Anxiety that was barely tempered by the determination that began to rip through her, bubbling up from her very core. "On second thought, don't forget it!" She squared her shoulders and glared at him. "I need to say something you may not want to hear, but just listen and-"

"Hawke!" Aveline flung open the door and burst onto the scene with her usual commanding force. "Oh, there you are. Am I interrupting something notable here?" she asked, her lips quirked to the side.

Finola's head spun around, ready to strike at Aveline's intrusion, but there was no point now; the most opportune moment in months had passed. "No, you're not interrupting anything," Finola sighed. "Is something wrong?" She stood up from her seat, dragging her rose-scented warmth away and leaving Sebastian bereft.

Aveline took another step into the library. "Nothing's wrong. I just wondered where you were."

Finola met Aveline, face to face, ignoring the concept of personal space. "Really? You shout for me and practically bust the door down to find me and nothing is going on? I find that hard to believe, especially coming from you, Aveline."

Aveline stepped back. "Well, I didn't want to upset you, seeing as how you're busy, but that damn healer you hired is drunk again. People are coughing and moaning and there's blood on the floor, and that mage is so pie-eyed he can barely cast a minor heal let alone anything really effective."

"Maker damn it all!" Finola swore, not caring if Sebastian was frowning at her choice of words. She turned to her silent friend only to see his chin had dropped to his chest as he squeezed his temples between two fingers, his eyes closed. _Fine, be that way,_ she thought. "Okay Aveline, I'll go fetch another mage, but it will take some convincing. Cullen is extremely wary about letting any mages roam about, even with me. I guess this will cost me some serious coin."

Aveline tossed her a pouch of sovereigns. "It will." Finola's hand darted out to catch the bag before it hit Sebastian square on the head. "Always a step ahead of you, Fin." The Captain of the Guard walked over to Sebastian and shouted at his lowered head. "Hey, Vael, look alive! Escort our friend to the Gallows, pronto."

He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "Hm? Oh, yes. We need to return before darkness settles on the city." He slid to the edge of the couch, glancing sideways at Finola.

"So practical," Finola mumbled, and then she shot a glare at Aveline. "Take over while I'm gone. It's bound to get uglier before it gets better around here."

"Right, Hawke. As you say," she nodded. "Wait, I'm the Captain, you're just… the Champion."

"Was that a joke? I do believe that's the first time I've heard you attempt levity."

Aveline stifled a snide retort, instead choosing to roll her eyes in silence.

Finola motioned towards the door. "Come on, Sebastian. Let's head for the docks."

"Of course." He forced himself to rise from the settee, walking straight out the door into the entrance hall to collect his bow and quiver.

Aveline leaned in and whispered into Finola's ear. "So, anything to report? Did I come in too early?"

"Pfft. Blasted man. No, and… no. I'll give you all the horrifying details later." Finola stalked out of the room, attempting to hide her eyes, which betrayed the sadness settling in her heart.

Aveline felt her friend's misery as if it were her own, and she silently berated her forceful entry. Leaving the library, she proceeded to hurl orders at Sandal and Bodahn who waited near the entryway. "Okay, let's get this place cleaned up! When Hawke gets back, I want everything in shipshape condition! Sandal, empty the chamber pots and clean the bloodstains in the back! Bodahn, new straw and linens for the bedrolls in the rooms! And for Maker's sake, stop blathering about the weather!"

Finola met Sebastian outside the door of her estate. She took a deep breath and put on her happiest face just as his eye caught hers. "Finola, I'm sorry. I should never have let-"

"No worries, Sebastian," she cut him off, waving a stiff hand in the air and nervously laughing at his attempted apology. "With everything going on around here, it's no wonder we're all a little crazy. I chalk it up to lack of sleep. No harm done."

Her chipper voice was almost convincing. _I couldn't have been wrong in there. I saw it in her eyes. Dear Maker, show me a sign,_ he thought. "If you say so. Just know," he said, squeezing her arm, "that I am here to lend an ear anytime. All right?"

"Yeah, sure." She pulled away from his touch to adjust her pauldron. "Come on, it's getting late, and I need to drop something off at Varric's on the way."

After a brief stop at The Hanged Man, Finola and Sebastian made their way to the docks in virtual silence when Sebastian finally spoke up. "Finola, I know my timing is bad, but maybe I should leave."

"Can't you wait until we secure another healer? Aveline will skin you alive if you don't accompany me back home, you know she will. Silly woman, she still thinks I need an escort."

He stopped walking and gazed out across the still waters, the Gallows looming in the distance. "No, I meant leave… for Starkhaven."

Finola's head spun around, her eyes wild with disbelief. "Starkhaven? After everything we've done, everything _I've_ done to help you secure your title, you're going to leave, just like that? Maker, Sebastian, why are you telling me this now?"

"I've been meaning to discuss it with you for some time. Kirkwall is slowly stabilizing, and you have no further need of my skills. Maybe it's for the best."

"No need? Right, what do I matter? You have what you require, and to the void with the rest of us!"

"Finola, you know it's not like that." He scratched his head and moved to stand in front of her. "I thought you might react like this, but you've known all along that my return to Starkhaven was imminent."

A few moments passed, and she was able to get her pounding heart under some control. But her thoughts were racing and she said the only thing that came to mind. "Yes, well, you just took me by surprise. I guess I'll just have to throw you the biggest farewell party this city has ever seen."

"Oh, no, no, that's not necessary," he managed between edgy breaths. "That would be…. inappropriate. And I have much to do if I am to leave in three weeks time."

"Three weeks? It seems you've had this planned for a while." Angry barely described how she felt. Flabbergasted wasn't even close. _Don't choke him, don't choke him._ "Well, you can't stop me from having a party, and if the guest of honor isn't in attendance, we'll go on without him." _Go on without him?_ _Maker, I can't do this! Okay, don't fall apart now. Just breathe, breathe…_

She was so uncomfortable, and she knew he was too.

Feeling slightly dazed, she began to prattle. "I have so much to do now. I may even have to decorate. I'll hire those minstrels we saw last year at that soiree for what's her name, that woman from Orlais. Anyway, they were terrific! And maybe I can get some jugglers, or fire breathers for entertainment. Oh, the orphans would love that!"

"Finola, stop this. Take a deep breath and slow down." Sebastian's heart tightened like it was being squeezed in a vice, and his frown deepened, his eyes blazed with concern. Maybe this was the wrong way to go about leaving.

Her words strung together in a frenzy of chatter, her arms flailing about in front of him. "Oh, we'll have to get some of that delicious wine from Fenris' cellar, and I'll meet with that woman from the baker's guild, you know the one. She makes the most delicious fish and egg pie, and I know it's your favorite. Do you think we should invite Cullen? Maybe we should. After all, his connections in Denerim helped gather some men for your army. Oh, and maybe Merrill can have some of her friends from the alienage come and regale us with stories of the ancient Dales."

This was too much, certainly more than she could handle in public. She reached into her pocket, searching for something, and nothing.

"Finola! Stop acting like this. I'm sorry, I know you thought-"

"What did I think?" All her energy drained in an instant, her world turning upside down and landing on its head.

Seeing her like this, so nervous and unbalanced, awoke a powerful desperation in his soul. "Please, talk to me, Finola, tell me what you are truly feeling," he implored. "Tell me what other choice I have, what _you_ would have me do."

She couldn't listen to him for another second, couldn't hear the anguish in his voice as her mind boiled with rage. The instinct to survive took over instead. She pulled her hand out of her pocket and slapped her thigh. "Damn it! I left the coin in Varric's room. Would you run back and get it? My ankle is bothering me after I tripped on the stairs earlier, and Cullen won't even talk to me if I haven't any gold to donate. I'll wait here and keep the boat from leaving without us."

"What?" His desire to protect her was even greater now, and he strained to keep his fluctuating emotions in check. "Forget the coin, Finola. I know what you're doing, and I won't allow it!"

"Sebastian Vael! You are in no position to tell me what you will and will not allow. You are not my father, or my husband, or even my… Andraste's ass, just go!" She rubbed her eyes roughly, willing the dread that seeped from her heart to still, even if only for a minute.

The words were there, aching in Sebastian's heart, trying to escape his lips. _What if_ _I could give you everything and more? Would you take it? Leave your home, your friends, your life._ "Starkhaven isn't as far away as it seems, Finola. Would you consider-"

"What? Visiting you? Moving there? Leaving everything behind! For what?" A deep breath and headshake calmed her enough to dispel her heated tone. "If you don't go to Varric's now," she began hesitantly, "I won't be able to get a healer before nightfall. It'll only take a little while if you run. Please, _Sebastian._ Just do as I ask."

Sebastian squinted at her, his chest heaving at the thought of leaving her alone in this state. He looked to the sun and she was correct; the day was waning. He had no choice but to acquiesce. "Fine, I'll get it, but only because we must have a healer. Calm down and wait right here. This conversation is not over, Finola. Don't. Go. Anywhere."

"I won't." _Another lie_.

As soon as Sebastian sprinted off, Finola felt her throat swell, strangling her as if two hands were wrapped around her neck. A zigzag amble in the general direction of the boat quickly became a jog, and then turned into a full out run, away and down the path to the warehouse district.

The tears stung and blurred her vision as she ducked into an empty alleyway to retch. Her back slid against the rough stone wall of a warehouse, and she slumped to the ground, holding her aching head in her hands.

The mighty Champion of Kirkwall, slayer of all things malevolent and tyrannical, was reduced to a miserable heap of trembling shoulders and soft whimpers.

But not for long.

Ten minutes passed, maybe fifteen. Her sobbing abated with the shadows of late afternoon closing in, her head clearing as dappled sun warmed her cheeks. Allowing herself a moment of weakness and releasing the pent up emotion in the alleyway actually strengthened her resolve. "It's not too late," she said to herself.

Finola had to confront him, had to make him stay for a while longer, or leave with him, using whatever means necessary. Failure to do so was not an option, _never_ an option.

With renewed energy, she stood up, brushed the dust off, and took a deep lungful of air. A small grin turned up her lips as she reached around to her lower back and pulled out the bag of sovereigns from a hidden pocket.

She prayed Aveline had tidied up and released some of the people whose injuries were mostly healed. Luckily, there were only a few patients milling about when she departed that morning. But first, she had to hire a skilled healer from the Circle, and pay the ferryman for his silence, before heading back to Hightown and stopping at the marketplace.

Then, the more significant efforts would begin.

A rosewater bath was critical, followed by the donning of a new dress. A freshly baked fish and egg pie wouldn't hurt, nor would a spiced apple tarte.

And a bottle of Antivan wine from the cellar. Or maybe… two bottles.


	2. High upon a Pedestal – Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **High upon a Pedestal – Part 1**

"Kirkwall has looters and bandits harassing citizens from here to the alienage." Aveline's heavy footfalls betrayed the controlled frustration within her as she reproached Sebastian. "How could you be so careless?"

"I never thought she'd lie about her ankle, Aveline. Or the coin, for that matter. We needed a healer, and we needed the coin to procure said healer. So yes, I went to Varric's as she asked of me," he huffed in frustration.

Mocking comments and reprimands continued to fly from every corner of the room as Finola's friends assembled in her library. Sebastian's cheeks were crimson, equal parts embarrassment and anger fueling his blush. Even the mabari growled his opinion.

Isabela sashayed over and poked Sebastian in the head. "Has the bloody Maker sucked your brain out and replaced it with shit?"

Sebastian swatted her hand away and barked, "Mind your tongue! Taking the Maker's name in vain serves no purpose."

Fenris addressed the group with his usual reserved calm. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but we _are_ talking about the same woman who saved this city, aren't we? Have you all so little faith in her skills?"

Sebastian nodded at Fenris. "Finally, someone has spoken sense. I thank you, Fenris."

"Don't. _I_ would never have left a woman like Hawke unaccompanied _anywhere_ in this city.

"A woman like Hawke?" Isabela snapped. "How is she so different from me?"

Fenris harrumphed with a half-smile. "She's somewhat impulsive, and driven by emotion. That can lead to reckless mistakes."

Isabela raised her brows. "Oh. So, that was sort of a… compliment?"

Fenris shrugged. "Take it as you like."

"Well, I can see why she refused to marry you," Merrill chimed in, shaking her head.

"I never asked her to marry me, Merrill."

"Silly man." Merrill chirped. "So _that's_ why she's so upset with you."

Sebastian appeared undone, ready to snap in mere seconds. He stopped pacing to throw his arms in the air and cry out. "Why are you all blaming me? This is her fault. She… tricked me!"

Then Varric took a step towards Sebastian and he looked up at the tall archer, his stare dark and pinning. "Yeah, she really pulled the pantaloons over your eyes this time, Vael." Curious eyes went to Varric; his concerned tone was one they hadn't heard since Finola's confrontation with Anders. He took another step and shook his head. If looks could kill, Varric would have seen Sebastian impaled on his own arrow of judgment. The dwarf's voice rose in one final, booming assertion. "You gave the impression that you loved her, Vael, but it seems all of us were wrong to think you cared for her beyond your princely ambitions for power and wealth!"

"I _do_ love her, Varric!" That last, sharp dig had stretched Sebastian's resistance beyond the limit.

Heads turned and jaws dropped, the silence broken only by Isabela's earsplitting shriek.

"Ah ha! So you admit it!" Isabela pointed an accusing finger at him. "Then why in blazes haven't you told her yet?"

"That is _none_ of your bus-"

"Captain! There's a message for you, brought by one of the orphans!" Bodahn appeared in the doorway waving a missive. It was brought by one of the many orphaned children who delivered mail for spare change throughout Kirkwall.

"It's amazing how fast these children are," Aveline commented. She scanned the note and chuckled a little before a frown appeared. Her murderous glare at Sebastian was brief before she began to read Finola's words aloud.

 _Aveline,_

 _You may read this to whoever is standing around there, chatting about my inability to survive on the streets of Kirkwall._

 _I'm perfectly fine, and I will be back within the hour. In the meantime, please stop scolding Sebastian (because I'm sure you've been at it for a while now) and tell him to come back tonight after the moon has risen over the horizon. I want to strategize with him about his plans to take back Starkhaven as he has informed me of his desire to leave in three weeks. In addition, when I return, I want to be alone. Don't take offense. I just need some peace and quiet for a time._

 _Aveline, please make sure the loft in the library is prepared for our new healer, Clara. She is to arrive tomorrow. And for the love of Andraste, clear out any stragglers from the house. Only the frailest should remain in the back rooms._

 _Thank you._

 _Finola_

"You didn't really drop leaving on her like that, did you?" Aveline admonished. "You are a fool, Sebastian Vael."

"That's not… I didn't-"

"Oh yes you did!" Isabela stood in front of Sebastian and shouted in his face. "You're an egotistical, sanctimonious prig!"

"How dare you sit in judgment of me! You're nothing but a thief and a liar!"

"All right, enough! Let's just do as she asks," Aveline demanded and threw a straight arm between the two rogues.

Varric clenched his fists, and then chose his words carefully. "You better make this right, Choir Boy. Because if you don't, and she's all whiney and bitchy, Bianca _will_ remove any hope you have of producing an heir."

Sebastian muttered something under his breath. "What's that?" Varric elbowed him on the hip. "I didn't hear you."

"I will, Varric. I _will_ make it right," Sebastian vowed. Guilt, shame, regret, a flurry of emotions silenced him then.

Aveline placed her hand on Sebastian's shoulder and gave him a gentle push. "Fenris, take him to your place, or the tavern, wherever… maybe you and Isabela can try to talk some sense into him."

Fenris peered at Aveline with questioning eyes. "Isabela and I are hardly experts on courting, Aveline."

"You can say that again," Varric scoffed.

"Just… get him out of here."

* * *

"Messere, you're back!" Bodahn greeted Finola with his usual chipper welcome.

"Hello, Bodahn. Any messages?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Isabela left some shoes for you, and Merrill left her good luck ring. Master Vael will be back later and I have a bath drawn for you upstairs."

"Thank you. You're free for the evening, Bodahn. Just give these to Orana along with this recipe before you settle in for the night."

As she handed her pack of ingredients to Bodahn, she was startled by Aveline's unexpected appearance.

"Hello, Hawke."

"Oh Aveline! You slipped in here silent as a rogue."

"Sorry, Hawke. Anyway, things took a little longer that I thought." She picked up her sword and shield, and headed for the door. "But I'm on my way home now." Aveline peered sideways and looked her up and down. Her casual inspection was not missed by Finola.

"As you can see, I'm fine," Finola assured her with a mock curtsy. "Thanks for helping me out today."

"You know, I should scold you for what you did, but it's getting late. Sebastian will be back soon, in case you're wondering."

"I heard. Did he… seem concerned?"

"Concerned? I don't know if I'd call it concerned. He did take a quite a beating from us though. Varric even threatened him with Bianca."

"Really? Sebastian must have been seething."

"You could say that." Aveline's smile faded, her tone serious, but caring. "Listen Hawke, whatever you need, I'm here for you. After all, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have married Donnic."

"And I appreciate the thought, Aveline." Finola nodded and then gazed into the fireplace. "I can't believe he intends to leave so soon."

"Then you'll have to change his mind, Hawke. Or else, go with him. Either way, this has come to a head and you _must_ finish it tonight."

"I know," she sighed, and started to see Aveline to the door. "Did you get the feeling he understands now?"

Aveline smiled. "I don't want to rehash the scene here earlier. Let me just say that I think his vows were the furthest thing from his mind."

"I hope you're right, Aveline, because I don't know how I can compete with Andraste."

"Don't worry about Andraste. He needs _you_ , a real woman of character, a mortal woman, flaws and all. Besides, he's no Maker himself."

Surprising her friend, Finola pulled Aveline into a hug. "He may not be the Maker, but he's everything to me, Aveline. Thank you." Finola stepped back and opened the door. "I guess by the end of this night, we'll be together, or miles apart."

"Good luck, my friend." As Aveline strode out the door, she looked back over her shoulder and smiled. "He won't be able to resist you, I'm sure of it."

* * *

Finola stared at herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall of her bedchamber. She'd often thought of herself as rather plain, but pretty enough. She knew men didn't desire her and ogle her the way they did Isabela. But on this rare occasion, she stared at her reflection wearing something other than leather armor, dusty boots, and bloodstained weapons strapped to her back, and she was pleased with her appearance. To her surprise, she looked feminine, graceful, regal even. She looked like someone else, and she wondered if the populace would even recognize her if she walked around dressed in finery all the time. She giggled at the thought. _They should all see me now._

Upper class mothers with sons of marrying age had sought her out, invited her to teas, and sent her tokens of appreciation in an attempt to claim the Champion of Kirkwall as their daughter-in-law. Finola ignored them all, and she didn't care one bit how that reflected on her reputation.

She was aware of the rumors, heard the whispers in the tavern. Some said her wit and intelligence attracted the attention of men, or perhaps it was her fighting skills. Others said it was only her title of Champion in recent years that had men fawning over her, seeking to use her status and influence. Many thought her a frigid and uncaring woman, living only for glory and wealth. Finola knew the impression she left on others, and depending on what situation she found herself in at any given time, some of it was fabricated and dramatic.

Her rise to power had left more blood and death in her wake than any citizen of Kirkwall had seen in their lifetime, and her blade always struck with the ruthless calm of an executioner. Of course, her loyal companions were by her side every minute. They admired her strength and courage, and they all owed her a debt. Finola realized they each had their own agenda, even Sebastian, and that they would only stick around as long as it was profitable, fun, and exciting. She made sure it was.

Varric was a true friend and had no ulterior motives, just a desire to live comfortably. He was a businessman, after all. Aveline was Captain of the Guard, settled and married, although she did ask for help on occasion. Still, she was a good friend. Isabela, Merrill, and of course, Anders, were relegated to the rank of narcissist or opportunist, sometimes both. Fenris was just muscle, plain and simple. Finola made use of them all, and always to her advantage.

Sebastian may have dipped in and out of those categories in his younger years, but Finola honestly believed he was no longer shallow and rash, that in his years of contemplation, he grew to be a noble man, a valiant man, firm in his beliefs, and worthy of her love. Consequently, he was the only man she wanted to impress, and he was due to arrive any moment.

Finola's burgundy dress flowed behind her as she descended the stairs feeling refreshed, but still a little worried about confronting Sebastian. The aroma of freshly baked fish and egg pie wafted in from the kitchen and Finola smiled, even though she thought it smelled awful.

Standing still for a moment, she looked down at the gold embroidery stitched around her neckline, noticing how it accented her freckled cleavage. She pulled and stretched the material up, not wanting to appear too immodest, and she felt slightly uncomfortable allowing that kind of exposure, but it was futile. She _was_ impassioned, unabashed in her desire for him, and at that moment, she didn't care if he had a problem with excessive cleavage.

"Oh, sod it!"

"Sod what?" said a richly accented voice in the doorway.

Her head flew up, alarm twisting her lips, and she froze like a rabbit in foxhole. "Sebastian, I didn't hear you come in." There he was, stepping into the room, rugged and attractive and smiling, outfitted in a forest green doublet with matching knee breeches and high, black leather boots. _He's not wearing his armor for once. And by the Maker, is he ever handsome_."Who let you in?" Her brows narrowed in thought. "You didn't… pick the lock, did you?"

He brushed an eyebrow back and forth once, a nervous tick that always gave him away. Finola grinned.

"I won't lie. Varric and Isabela, and sometimes even you refuse to use the key to open _your own door_ , so how could I not do the same when given the chance?"

"You've become a sneak! And oddly enough, I'm happily surprised by that. I've always said you don't use your rogue skills enough."

"People _can_ change, Finola." _Oh, Andraste help me, she's lovely without the armor._ "Forgive my staring, but you look so… different." All evening he'd been rehearsing his lines, careful to pick just the right words to express his feelings and his plans, and then burn them into his memory. It all flew out of his head as he watched her descend the stairs.

Her legs were made of lead, she was sure of it, and the steps down seemed dangerously steep. Her feet were jammed into Isabela's little red shoes and they ached with each step, but she willed them to move forward.

"Different?" she croaked as one foot followed the other until she made her way to the hearth. She poised herself in front of the fire with a faint smile on her lips, her hands folded together in front of her, stilling the foot that wanted to tap on the floor. "Like I've turned into some sort of creature?"

"N-no! I don't mean different in a bad way. I mean you look… pretty… well, more attractive than usual." Sebastian moved closer, emboldened by the sight before him, and stammered on. "This is to say, that you are _beautiful_ , but tonight, you look… you are as beautiful as Andraste herself."

"I know what you meant, Sebastian." Her nervous laugh scrunched her eyes shut for a second, and then she straightened, composing herself. Now was not the time to allow the offensive teases running through her head to escape her mouth. "Thank you." In that moment, she felt a bit like an adolescent girl infatuated with a local boy: giddy, inarticulate, and a bit unsure of herself. She fought against the anxiety coiling in her stomach. _Keep it together. He wouldn't be here, wouldn't be dressed like this, wouldn't have complimented me..._ "And you look quite dapper yourself," she said, brushing her palm over a speck of dust on his shoulder.

"I thought armor would have been a bit _crude_ for tonight."

"You're expecting dinner and dancing then?" she said running her words together in a high-pitched tone. Realizing his right hand was behind him, she craned her neck from side to side to peek over his shoulders and spoke just as he opened his mouth to answer. "What do have back there? A concealed weapon in case things turn sour?"

"Oh, I almost forgot these!" His arm flew from around his back, and he thrust out a bouquet of irises tied off with ivy. "I cut these in a garden next to Fenris' house. You know Mrs. Flinders, don't you? She saw me staring at her flowers and she allowed me to cut some if I promised to help her weed tomorrow."

"Sebastian, they're lovely." She brought them up to her nose and inhaled their sweet fragrance.

"I'm glad you like them. Did you know the three leaves of the iris are symbols of faith, valor, and wisdom? The flower itself is said to offer divine protection to royalty," he paused as she walked to a side table and placed the flowers in a vase, and then added, "as well as commoners."

"Oh? We _commoners_ are certainly thankful to be counted among the protected." Picking up a nearby pitcher, she poured some water into the container, keeping her back to him to hide her impish grin.

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere, Finola. The bouquet was meant to be a thoughtful gift, as well as a compliment."

"Oh, come one, don't spoil my fun. You know how I love to provoke you." She set the pitcher down and slipped on the ring Merrill had left.

"Yes," Sebastian said, "I am keenly aware of that fact." His eyes travelled to the spot on the floor where she stood. "So tell me, how is your ankle? It seems to have healed in last few hours."

She spun around and saw his raised eyebrow with a somewhat displeased grin, and her hand splayed across her flushing neckline. "Please don't be angry with me, Sebastian. I'm sorry I lied to you, but you took me by surprise and… well, I should've handled it better, I suppose."

"I'm not sure what to say, Finola. Do you really think me such a fool?" Duped as he had been by her, Sebastian's pride was still quite sore. "I thought we were well beyond petty lies and tricks. Your dishonesty belittled us both."

"Don't scold me like a child, Sebastian." Her hackles went up, her eyes flaring with indignation. "You have some nerve accusing me when _you_ have been less than honest as well."

"When have I ever been dishonest with you?" he shot back.

Her eyes widened further. "Oh, please! You led me to believe our relationship was something more, or are we truly just two friends who sit around reading religious documents when it's raining? Don't you realize what you've done to me? How you've affected my decisions, my life?"

"I… I'm not sure what you mean. I've done nothing to hurt you, have I?" The innocence of his gaze gave her pause.

"You're not really that oblivious, are you?" She closed her eyes for a second and scolded herself silently. _Don't ruin the night with silly squabbles._ _It's now or never._ "Look, I don't want to argue. The truth is I was angry with you."

"Angry? I've treated you with nothing but respect. I know my mention of leaving was sudden, but-"

"It's more than that, Sebastian. Yes, I _was_ angry because you said were for leaving me for Starkhaven, but I was also angry because you said that it would be for the _best_ , as if you even know what _is_ best. I'm still angry because you can't tell me what you want! Do you even know what you want?" Finola took a deep breath and sighed loudly.

"I'm so sorry, Finola." His head tipped back with half-lidded eyes, and then he nodded, frowning at his ignorance. "I never wanted you to be disappointed with my behavior. You have been a good friend to me over the years and you deserve to be treated as such."

"Sebastian, don't you see? All I have ever truly wanted was you, and not just as a friend. And I thought maybe you've felt as I do. " The flames of the hearth reflected in her eyes, and they burned with disquiet as she stared at him. "It's simple, really." She took another step closer and spoke softly. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you, and I've never waited for anyone as long as I've waited for you. There is no place I'd rather be than in your arms right now."

"You would… want that? Of course, you wouldn't lie." No one could disrupt his train of thought the way she did. He sighed heavily, regaining his wits. "There were many times Elthina tried to make me see who and what I wanted, and needed, but I didn't listen. I've been so selfish and self-absorbed, wasting all this time trying to decide what I want, what my duty dictates, and I didn't see what is plain as a pikestaff to me now."

"Elthina was a good woman, but she did often speak in riddles. I once asked her what she thought you would do regarding Starkhaven. She said 'Sebastian will follow his heart, and you will follow yours. Don't be surprised if both end up in Starkhaven'." Desperation was written across her face as she forced back the sting of tears. "Was she wrong?"

"Oh Finola, I know I've made a mess of this. For a time, I thought you were thrust into my life as a test of my faith. I ignored my feelings, pretending what I felt for you was mere camaraderie. I wanted you to choose a man worthy of your company, and I didn't think I was that man. You had spent some time with the Remidale's eldest son, and I honestly thought you could find happiness with him."

"Thomas?" She sneered at the thought of the womanizer. "We had a few laughs together, some nice dinners, but he only wanted one thing."

"Oh, I didn't realize he was… not of noble intent."

"And are you of noble intent?"

"I am. I prayed and begged the Maker for a sign there was more between us. When everyone was shouting at me earlier, the guilt and embarrassment… All I could think was that if something had happened to you, how could I forgive myself? You're my best friend, but so much more. Together, we can do the Maker's work, save lives, and stabilize our lands." Sebastian reached out and took her hands in his. "Come with me. Come with me to Starkhaven and help me recapture the throne. I don't think I can do it without you, Finola. You have more experience with politics, more experience doing what it takes to protect your people. As viscountess, you would have enough power and prestige to convince the citizens of Starkhaven to seek change."

"What?" She couldn't believe her ears. He had spoken as if he was pitching a good deal on a new dagger, and it made her very suspicious of his intentions. "You don't care about anything beyond politics and regaining your throne, do you? You just want to use my influence _,_ and then send me packing back to Kirkwall. Thanks for your help and goodbye Hawke!" Her shoulders slumped, the color from her face draining. She jerked her hands away from his grasp.

"Finola, I would _never_ use you like that! You've misunderstood me!"

She looked at him with the oddest expression. Maybe there was no tenderness and love for her inside his heart, only fraternal feelings. _Is he holding back, or have I misjudged him the entire time? Maker's breath, could I have been so wrong again?_

"Just like Anders," she said, her voice distant and flat. She turned away and walked towards the front door quicker than her usual pace. Her hands were shaky, and a stream of curses poured from under her breath. _Air, I need some air._

"Where are you going?" Sebastian raced after her, worried she was about to take to the streets of Kirkwall and disappear into the night. "Finola, wait! Don't leave like this!"

She opened the door, keeping it slightly ajar, and breathed in the crisp evening air.

Sebastian rushed to her, tense and angered, and slammed the door shut with a fist. "You will _not_ leave this time. You will _not_ run, Finola."

Her hand came up with lightning speed and she slapped him hard on the cheek. "Don't you _dare_ order me, Sebastian Vael," she growled.

He grabbed her hands and pressed them to his chest with such brutal force, she gasped aloud as he drew her close. With no armor limiting their nearness, their bodies were a hairsbreadth from being pressed together, and she trembled.

Sebastian held her tight, his intense gaze fixed upon her. "Hear me now, Finola. I am _not_ Anders. And what I feel for you _is_ more, much more than friendship or blind devotion. You deserve nothing less than a prince, and that is what I aim to give you. But being the Prince of Starkhaven would be meaningless without you there by my side. Everything makes sense; everything is _right_ when I'm with you."

Her eyes flicked back and forth, skeptical of what she was hearing, wondering if it was only his political ambitions speaking, or guilt, or Maker knows what. "I want to believe you. I _need_ to believe that you want only _me_ , not my political connections. Tell me what's in your heart, right here and now. I need to hear it, Sebastian, please," she begged, her voice timid and low. "Tell me what I truly mean to you."

In his eyes, she saw flashes of fear, uncertainty, _desire_ , but he said nothing. She waited as the seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity, and she waited through the silence, the silence deafening but for the sound of their unsteady breaths.

His heart hammered in his chest as the words echoed through his mind amid a jumble of unspoken affirmations. _Tell her, damn you, tell her now!_

Sebastian tipped his head slowly. "Finola, I'm in love with you." A brilliant smile lit up his face then, the kind of smile she had only dreamed of him bestowing upon her.


	3. High upon a Pedestal – Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **High upon a Pedestal – Part 2**

**High upon a Pedestal – Part 2**

"Say it again."

"I'm in love with you, and I don't want us to be apart, ever," Sebastian repeated, this time proclaiming his love louder, and proudly.

"Are you sure, really sure? Because I would seriously consider maiming that handsome face of yours if you changed your mind down the road." The smallest hint of a smile began to emerge on her face as the tension faded from her muscles.

"I have no doubt you might even entertain the idea of killing me, and quite painfully. But yes, I've never been so sure of anything in my life. You know my previous vows have left me flat broke, and I have no home to speak of, but whatever lay ahead, any obstacles I face, I would ask that you stay with me."

She shook her head slowly. "Sebastian, I'll not hold your vows of poverty against you."

"All the same, you have my word that I _will_ make it up to you some day. Come, let's go near the fire. You're near to shivering." He led her to the hearth and recaptured her hands in his. "And I do love you so, Finola, like no other. I can't seem to say _I love you_ enough now," he laughed. "I have little else to offer, but my heart and soul are yours, if you think me worthy."

The smile grew larger on her face but she spoke in a tentative whisper. "So you would have me as your wife? As the mother of your children?"

"I would." He squeezed her hands and brought them to his lips, peppering the sweetest of kisses across her palms with soft eyes never leaving her gaze. "Nothing would please me more."

She allowed her fingers to creep upward then, and she held his arms, bracing herself. "And if I said I didn't want to be viscountess, what then?"

"Finola Hawke, you are an amazing woman, and I would be very blessed to have you as my betrothed, viscountess or not. That decision is up to you. " Her touch raised goose bumps on his skin as she rubbed her thumbs back and forth on his forearms, a sensation he'd almost forgotten. "Tell me then, will you take my hand in marriage?"

"Sebastian, you don't know how long I've waited to hear those words from your lips." She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him with all her strength as he snaked his arms around her waist and brought her in closer. "I will, Sebastian, I will," she whispered in his ear. Feeling his heart hammering against her chest and his lips trembling on her cheek, and knowing that it was _her_ closeness that caused his reactions had her weak in his embrace.

Her gentle caresses ignited something inside of him that he had held back for so long, he almost ached with pain. "Look at me, Finola."

Their eyes met, and Sebastian felt heat flow through his body and a pleasing tingle settle in his stomach. Eyes wide with longing gazed back at him. He saw it then; a deep ocean of desire within her, flooding the air around them. Now and again, he had seen a glimpse of it when she looked at him, but he had never truly understood what it was until that moment.

With gentle fingertips, she touched his mouth, running her thumb along his lower lip, and he held his breath as she began to explore his face with childlike curiosity. His nerves tingled in long forgotten ways as her touch affected him, and he closed his eyes, suppressing a low moan as her fingers traced over his eyelids, and then swept back to smooth his hair.

Yes, this woman was more than a fascination, more than a dream, even more than his salvation.

"May I kiss you?" he whispered.

Finola felt his hot breath on her cheeks and she leaned forward, closing her eyes and touching her lips to his with care.

Sebastian placed his hands on her face and pulled her nearer, his mouth moving over hers, tasting her, possessing her, loving her. He tightened his grip on her cheeks and felt her gasp against his mouth as a pleasant shiver ran down her spine.

Capturing his lips with more force, she slid her hands up from his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him in to her. His tongue probed her mouth, and she opened her lips and felt him sweep inside. She was consumed with impatience, dipping her tongue back into his mouth, swirling it around, eager to sample from that which had been denied her for so long. Inhaling the herbal scent that was uniquely Sebastian, she weaved the fingers of one hand into his hair and the other hand pulled at his collar, gripping with the power of her uninhibited longing.

Finola's hands mimicked Sebastian's, traveling possessively over his body, but remaining reverent, only seeking, learning, and caressing. Kissing each other deeper with barely any restrained passion, their labored breathing drowned out the crackling wood in the hearth beside them. The sudden awareness of his taut muscles and the strength of his hands kneading her back caused her to press her body against his even harder, almost fusing them as one.

"I love you," she murmured in between kisses. "I love you so much, Sebastian."

His heart was racing, and he slid his hands down to grab her waist again. He was kissing her with wild abandon now, nibbling at her bottom lip and then darting his tongue into her mouth. She was matching his intensity, sighing and clutching at his hair and clothing as if he were a lifeline.

Sebastian brought his hands up, pulling three hairpins from her upswept bun, and dropping them to the floor, releasing a wave of bouncy blonde locks that fell about her shoulders. He buried his fingers in her hair, and it was as soft as he had imagined in his dreams. "You feel so good in my arms," he said into the strands of gold.

His hands roamed up and down the planes of her silk covered back, and sliding one hand up to her neck, he pushed her hair back and placed a soft kiss on the skin there. He felt her shudder at his touch and a contented smile graced his lips.

"Sebastian, what I'm feeling… it's almost frightening," she admitted softly.

"It's only natural. I feel it too." Sweet breath wafted against his cheek and he felt his body react to forbidden temptations he had long resisted. His lips wandered across her cheek and down her neckline, advancing lower still with nips and pecks across her full bosom when her weak hands pushed against his chest.

"Wait, Sebastian. We shouldn't… I mean, I don't want to… rush this. And… I'm hungry."

"Hungry? Are you pulling my leg again?" Sebastian quirked a smile, and then took a deep breath to compose himself as he pulled back to face her. He didn't expect to see the apprehension in her eyes, the reason for her reluctance suddenly clear to him. He took a small step back and stifled a building sigh, intent on easing her discomfort. "You're right. It would be prudent to wait until you are completely comfortable with the notion. I want our union to be special for you, something you will always treasure. "

Her expression fell and her eyes dropped to the floor. "Maker, I'm easier to read than Merrill playing cards," she sighed. "So, you know… I've done _some_ things, but I've never… _made love_."

He knew her too well. She was already fretting, concerned about her lack of experience. "Even more reason to wait then. And please, don't worry. We've got nothing but time, my dear."

"You don't mind?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Not at all. Well, that's not to say that I don't _want_ to, but, this… us, happened quite fast. When we _do_ make love, Finola, it will be the most beautiful and sacred experience of our lives." Trying to get his unbridled passion under control, Sebastian proceeded to orate, as he was wont to do when the situation called for it. "It reminds me of a Canticle of Trials verse. _Though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder._ Maybe a bit dramatic for our purposes, but there it is. I have no doubt that the Maker had these plans for us when we met years ago."

"Dramatic is an understatement. That verse sounds more like something you'd say on your deathbed. Although, it does have a certain _marriage vow_ quality to it. Oh, the implications there!"

"Finola, I really think you need to brush up on your knowledge of the Chant," he chided.

"And I think you should help me get supper on the table before I faint from hunger."

He lifted his nose in the air and breathed in. "Hm, now that you mention it, what is that wonderful smell?"

She quirked an eyebrow. _Wonderful? I can't believe he loves that nasty smelling pie._ "Fish and egg pie, your favorite. Can you believe I made it myself? Well, with just a _little_ tiny bit of help from Orana."

"Really? Yet another talent I was unaware you possessed."

"See? I'm full of surprises." She took his hand and led him to a secluded side chamber that Orana had set up as a private dining room.

"My Lady." Sebastian pulled out a chair and motioned for Finola to sit and then he went to the chair at the head of the small table and sat down next to her. "Allow me to pour you a glass of wine." Finola nodded and pushed her goblet towards him. Reaching out, he grabbed the bottle of wine and pressed the cork up with his thumbs. Instead of the cork easing out, it flew up, and hit the wall with a loud pop. They laughed aloud as he filled their glasses with the effervescent beverage.

After setting the bottle down, he lifted his glass in a toast. "To us, Finola," he said brightly. "And our future together."

"To us," she echoed, and then clanked her glass against his.

She met his smoldering eyes over the top of her glass and wondered why she didn't just catch on fire then and there. What little nervousness she had left evaporated, driven off by the intensity of his gaze, and she smiled back, sipping her wine.

"Maybe we should eat." Finola rose up and walked to the pie safe where his favorite meal rested. She removed their dinner, cut a rather large helping, and placed it on his plate. "I hope I've done this pie justice, Sebastian. You should have seen me making it. There was flour everywhere, fish bones strewn about the floor."

"It smells and looks exactly as it should." He shoveled a forkful into his mouth as she stared at him with rapt attention and tapped her finger on her hip. "Delicious!" he said finally, and she sat down, pleased but not entirely proud.

As they ate their meal, he watched the candlelight play on her features. The flickering light illuminated her porcelain skin and danced in her eyes. They traded smiles back and forth, and laughed at each other's small jokes.

But by her fourth small mouthful, her lips turned down in a frown.

"What is it?"

"I don't like it, Sebastian. It's… fishy."

He thought her wrinkled nose was terribly cute. "Of course it is. Well, _I_ love it. If you cook like this for me every night, I'm going to have to get my armor adjusted to accommodate a growing belly."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I can't _really_ cook. Orana may have had more to do with this than I let on… Sorry?"

"Hmm, fibbing to your betrothed again? I shall have to think of a suitable punishment for your insolence." Deep in thought, he tapped his finger on his chin, and Finola felt a sudden rush of desire rise from the pit of her stomach. The thoughts running through her head were enough to make her blush a rosy red hue and sputter a cough. "Now, now, no racy thoughts, love."

"Me? Oh, no it's… um, a fish bone I think, caught in my throat."

"Finola, please don't lie to me anymore. I want you to be comfortable sharing any thoughts you have with me, even if they embarrass you. After all, whom else can you be truthful with if not your future husband?"

"You're right, I know. I simply can't stop thinking about what it will be like to," she paused, averting her gaze from his as she bit her lip.

"To what?" He noticed her mood shift along with her restless fidgeting and said, "I assure you, your thoughts are no less intimate than mine. Tell me what you're thinking, Fin."

"I'm not sure I want to wait, Sebastian. I've dreamt of it for so long, and I need to feel you near me, to feel your hands on me. I can't help but imagine what it would be like with someone I love, someone like _you_."

"Nor can I. When the moment is right, we'll know." He laid a soothing hand atop hers and smiled.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" she asked with an innocent grin.

"I will if you want me to. You have a couch in your room. I can sleep there."

"I would prefer you to sleep in my bed. We can just cuddle and… please, say you will."

"Woman, you tempt me so. It _will_ be a challenge not to sweep you into my arms and have my way with you. But I have a strong will, and it shall not falter. Can you say the same?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"Let's take it one step at a time then." She nodded in agreement. "Now, I think I have the perfect punishment. You must finish the pie on your plate like a good girl. _All_ of it, Finola. And then I will feed you dessert as a reward."

"But, I hate it! I'd rather eat dirt," she said, pushing the plate away.

"Then no dessert for you." He wagged his finger at her.

"Ach, you stubborn man. Okay, okay." The first bite went down with a gulp of wine, the second with two gulps of wine. By the third mouthful, he had refilled her glass and she ate the entire amount, washing it down with a shiver. "There, all done. Now, about that dessert…"

"Yes, dessert." Sebastian plucked a ripe berry from the bowl and dangled in front of her. He really _was_ going to feed her. He held the piece of fruit and moved it to her lips. She opened her mouth, biting into the sweet, succulent berry as juice ran onto her lower lip. He brushed the liquid away with a blunt fingertip, and then touched it to his tongue. Heat shot through her again and she squirmed in her chair. It was all she could do to stay planted in her seat instead of jumping into his lap.

"You're not making this easy, Sebastian. Please, stop being so… so damn seductive."

He let out a deep laugh and then palmed her cheek softly. "My dear, I cannot help it. I fear you bring out the rogue in me."

"Well, two can play at that game, serrah." Then, _she_ picked up a berry and fed it to him, oddly aroused by the sight of his full lips and teeth biting cleanly through the bright red flesh. "Sebastian, I think the wine is… Am I drunk already?"

"It has been a very emotional night for us both. Maybe we should take our wine and retire for the evening."

"I'd like that. But you're not too tired to talk more, are you? We really _should_ discuss your plans."

"If you like, but it's not necessary tonight. I don't want politics to ruin a perfectly romantic evening." He grabbed their glasses and stood up, pulling her chair out from under her as she rose.

"Nothing can ruin this night for me. First, come with me. I have something to give you."

"A present? I like the sound of that."

Hand in hand, Finola and Sebastian ascended the stairs, and when they reached her bedchamber, she let go of his grasp, kicked off her shoes and skipped to her armoire.

"I had this made some time ago, and I wanted to wait for the right moment to give it you." She reached in and grabbed a small leather pouch and held it out for him to take. "Initially, I thought it would end up as a goodbye present if you left for Starkhaven. I think it's more appropriate for this special night."

"Finola, this is very thoughtful. But just how long ago did you buy this?"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" His eyes demanded an answer. "All right. I guess it was shortly after the Qunari incident."

"What? That was three years ago! Finola, I had no idea. If you'd only told me-"

"It wouldn't have mattered at the time. You weren't ready, and I'm not sure I was either. Don't feel guilty." She smiled sweetly and nodded her head at the gift in his hand. "Go on, open it!"

He flipped the bag over and a gold ring fell onto his palm. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he gazed at the ring, noting a single, startling blue sapphire set into the band.

"I had it engraved, too. Can you read the tiny letters, old man?"

"Old man. Bah! I've only got a year or two on you." He spun the ring, taking his time to read and appreciate the beauty of it, and then he looked into her eyes, reciting the verse. " _Blessed are the righteous._ It's truly remarkable, Fin. I don't' know what to say."

"How about 'thank you'."

Before she could react, he pinned her to the armoire with a searing kiss. "I love the ring, and I love you," he breathed. "I wish I had gift as meaningful to offer you."

" _You_ are my gift. Besides, you did give me flowers earlier. I'd say we're even. I could use another kiss though." She couldn't resist his smooth, waiting lips and pressed her mouth to his as she ran her hands along his broad shoulders hungrily. "Sebastian," she panted, "I'd better change into my night clothes."

"Yes, you… do that." Sebastian stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair, taking deep breaths and trying hard not to watch her saunter behind the changing screen.

Within a minute, she appeared before him, her hair trailing down past her shoulders, following the curve of her breasts which lay under the silky white nightgown. She wore the most beautiful of smiles that pushed up her cheeks with mirth.

"Finola, this might be a bad idea. How can I resist such a vision of loveliness?"

She placed a gentle finger on his lips. "Shh, my prince. I won't tease you, I promise. Just climb into bed and relax." Backing him up with gentle finger pressure on his chest, she shoved him when he reached the edge of the bed and he flew back onto the down-filled mattress. "We're going to put that infamous Vael self-discipline to the test. But first, I'll remove your boots." As she knelt down, she kept her gaze on his face and an enticing grin on her lips.

"Your proximity is teasing enough, woman. Don't you know that it's wrong to tempt a desperate man?" She simply smiled and removed the offending footwear before stretching out next to him. Turning to face her, he threaded his fingers through her hair and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I think that's as far as we should go right now, my dear."

She put on her best pout and brushed a finger across his lips. "You don't really mean that, do you? I see no harm in bestowing a few more kisses on my beloved's lips."

Against his better judgment, he agreed. "I should refuse you, you know. But I will admit I've dreamed about a moment like this with you, and I almost can't believe it's true."

"It does rather seem like a dream." For a few moments, they stared at each other, basking in their new-found happiness. "Sebastian, listen to me," she said in a suddenly serious tone. "If you think it best, I will take the viscountess position. If I wield any power here in Kirkwall that will help you to reclaim Starkhaven, I will accept it."

"You would do this, even though you flat out told me you didn't want the position? Even though politicking makes you nauseous?" His brows furrowed with disbelief.

"Don't look at me that way." She laughed then, a high cackle of sorts. "Oh, and you _know_ just how many times I've said that, you rascal," she said, and playfully slapped his shoulder.

"Too many to count," he said without a hint of humor in his voice. "Don't place yourself in government for the wrong reasons, Finola."

"For you, and only you, I'll do it. _You_ are as good a reason as any. Of course, you do realize the position will keep me in Kirkwall more often than not, at least until I resign in a year or two."

One of Sebastian's eyebrows rose up, amused by her timetable. "It may take longer than a couple years."

"We'll see. Why don't you take Fenris and Isabela? I think they would accompany you to Starkhaven if you asked them. Fenris has a soft spot for you, you know. "

"I'm sure Fenris would help, but Isabela? I don't know. Maybe."

"Isabela will follow Fenris, I'm sure of it. She has nothing better to do. I don't even begin to understand why she hasn't fixed up that boat yet, lazy woman, and you've heard her bragging about their _private_ times together. I swear she puts more stock in sex than any woman I've known."

 _Don't knock it until you've tried it_ , he thought _._ Sebastian cleared his throat _._ "Yes, well, I'm happy for Fenris anyway. He's never had someone care for him the way she does, and I'm sure whatever goes on behind closed doors is more tender than she lets on. She has a good heart, when she's not pilfering or singing her own praises."

"Honestly Sebastian, how can you stand them?"

"They're our _friends_ , Finola. You should have heard them defending you this afternoon. What's come over you?" She wasn't at all happy with the look on his face.

"I'm sorry. You're right, of course." _No more wine. Damn my loose lips._ "They are true fiends. I'm just exhausted I think, and feeling a bit overwhelmed."

"By the way, when was the last time you spoke with Seneschal Bran?" he asked casually. "He's quite eager for you to set up office, you know."

"Did you speak with him recently? How do you know what he's eager for?" Her words came out fast and nervous, her panicked tone alarming him.

"You don't care for him much, do you? He's certainly full of himself and he's _definitely_ fixated on power. Have you two had words recently?"

 _Oh, my love, you don't know the half of it_ , she thought. "He's not my favorite person, no. Let's just say I was on the receiving end of his eagerness one time too many."

"What does that mean? When did you speak with him? He hasn't been inappropriate, has he? I'll gut him if he so much as lays a hand on you."

"Oh, I like this possessive side of yours, Sebastian. I haven't seen Bran in a long while, but let's not talk of him anymore." She waved a dismissive hand in the air.

"The last thing I want say about the Seneschal is that I'm now convinced I need to go with you when you meet him tomorrow. If you don't trust him, neither do I."

 _Trust. I trusted him once._ She shook the memories away. "Really Sebastian, it's not necessary. I don't need an escort for formal paper signing and declarations. Bran is harmless enough. I can handle him."

"I'm not happy about this, Finola. There's something you're not telling me, but I won't push it tonight."

"Good." She kissed his cheek and snuggled closer to him. "What else would you like to settle before you leave?"

"Well, there is only one other consideration I think important enough for us to finalize sooner rather than later." He sat up then, and rested his back against the headboard.

"Oh? And what's that?" She scooted up to lean her back against his chest and her head flopped back onto his shoulder.

"The small matter of you becoming my wife. What say you, Finola Hawke? Should we marry soon?"

"Finola Lucinda Hawke Vael, Champion and Viscountess of Kirkwall, soon to be the Princess of Starkhaven. Wow, that's a great deal of names for one woman," she mused.

"I think you secretly like all the titles."

"Only when it benefits me. Or rather _us_ ," she corrected. She cuddled closer to him, throwing her leg over his, and resting her head on his chest. "No more talk, hm? Oh, take off your shirt, for Maker's sake. It'll be too warm for me to sleep next to you in this," she said, unfastening two of his buttons.

"As you wish, love." Without hesitation, he leaned forward and stripped off his shirt, folded it, and placed in on the floor next to the bed.

A quiver that began in her stomach, turned to goose bumps across her flesh at the sight of his broad muscular chest, and her fingers ached to smooth over his body. The warmth rose from deep inside her, desire unlike anything she'd ever known. Flushed with abandon, she paused to admire his form before lunging at him and sprawling atop him in one deft move. She kissed him then, deep and forceful, pressing her breasts against his chest as her hands threaded through his hair.

And he responded immediately, each gentle stroke of his tongue across her skin eliciting a moan of desire from her. Their bodies writhed, their desire flowing out in a stream of whispered endearments.

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure as she watched his face grow more intense, his eyes feral with need. She whispered in his ear, curling herself around him, pressing against his body earnestly, and he couldn't prevent a loving smile from escaping his lips.

He adored her, hungered after her, and she had awakened emotions and desires in him that had been restrained for so long, they now burst forth with the power of a hundred men. He flipped her onto her back, and threw his leg over her, straddling her as his fingers entwined with hers while he pinned their hands against the mattress. He bent his head down and captured her lips in a fiery kiss.

Her hips met his and she pressed into him, her body silently asking for more before she came right out and asked. "Take me, Sebastian, take me now if you wish to."

Breathing hard from his exertions, and his restraint, he gazed into her eyes heavy with fatigue. "I want you so much, but… no, no, best to wait, when our heads are less clouded by wine." He threw himself back onto the bed with a deep sigh.

She leaned over and ran a fingertip along his chest, down past his navel, slowly approaching what she could see as ample arousal. "But, I need you, please Sebastian, make love to me."

"Fin, this is too much, too _fast_. I'm not entirely convinced you're comfortable with the idea yet. I don't want you to regret making love for the first time. We should wait, even if we only wait until morning, when we're refreshed and rested. I promise you, it's for the best. You'll thank me in the end." He was trying to convince Finola as well as himself, drawing on his learned strength from deep inside.

"I guess you really _do_ have an absurd amount of self-discipline," she said, giggling quietly.

He laughed with her. "Years of practice, love, _many_ years of practice." Putting his arm around her possessively, he said, "The sooner we get to sleep, the sooner we awaken. And then we shall see what the morning brings."

"You realize this is the _only_ time I'm going to let you get away with turning me down."

"I figured as much." He gave her a kiss then, a sweet and long kiss, full of passion, full of love. "Dream of me," he whispered, raising her hand to his lips for a goodnight kiss.

"How could I not?" She nuzzled into him for the night, kissing his neck and resting her hand on his stomach. Together, they began drifting into the fade, and somewhere in between wakefulness and sleep, she thought, _Tomorrow. I will tell him tomorrow._


	4. Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reckoning**

**Reckoning**

"Mmmm, Sebastian?" Finola purred. "Sebastian?" she whispered again, only to look over and realize he was not next to her any more.

"Orana!" She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, boring her palms into her eye sockets. "Orana!"

The delicate elf pushed open the door, smiling and eager. "Yes, Mistress. Is something wrong?"

Finola bolted straight up, surveying her room and noting that Sebastian's shirt was gone too. "Where is Sebastian? Have you seen him?"

"He left Mistress, ran out the door shortly after the templar came to see him. He's quite an early riser, your friend."

"What? Why didn't you wake me? Bloody damnation, what time is it?" She peered at the window and frowned. "Tell me where he went."

Orana scrunched fistfuls of her dress, her cheeks flushing with discomfiture. "I-I don't know. Master Vael only said to make sure you found his note."

"Well, where is it? Maker, can't I get a straight answer around here?" Frustrated beyond all reason, Finola punched the bed with two fists.

"I'm sorry, I don't know that either, Mistress."

"Must I do _everything_?" The timid girl bowed her head and averted her gaze. Instant regret tightened Finola's forehead and she sighed. "Don't mind me, Orana. You know I'm a terrible grump in the morning. I'm not angry with _you_. I'm not," she assured the girl.

"Of course, Mistress." Orana walked into the room and began searching for the missing note. Quick as a rabbit she pointed to a spot on the bed right next to Finola. "There it is Mistress, on the other side of that pillow!"

"Oh… right. And Orana, please, for the love of all things holy; just call me Finola, or Hawke, or Fin, anything but Mistress."

"Yes, Mi-," Orana stopped and slowly, as if she were learning to speak a different language, spoke her name. "Finola."

Before Orana turned to leave, Finola smiled at her and nodded with kind eyes. "Good."

With the folded note in one hand, Finola grabbed Sebastian's pillow and embraced it, inhaling his lingering scent with a contented sigh. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she snapped open the letter.

_My Dear Finola,_

_I'm sorry I had to leave you so early, love. I know we discussed certain plans for this morning, but Knight Commander Cullen summoned me to the Gallows by missive just as the sun rose. His note only said that he had crucial information regarding the Mirend family and their support for my recapture of Starkhaven. You recall the family, I'm sure. They have an estate just outside Cumberland. Cullen wrote that it's quite possible I will have to meet with Lord Mirend, and we might ride to an undisclosed location. I'll have a message sent to you via templar courier if that is the case._

_I truly hope Lord Mirend has decided to come to Kirkwall and meet, or the hours away from you will be torturous indeed. I suppose we should get used to these sorts of interruptions, annoying as they may be. But I know you, of all people, realize how vital it is that I gather what support I can before we leave for Starkhaven._

_Know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers, Finola. In the meantime, I will remain optimistic and look forward to this evening, to being alone with you when I return. For now, duty calls, my love._

_Ever yours,_

_Sebastian_

"Shit." She crumpled the note in her hand and tossed it across the room.

Leaping from her bed, she stopped in front of the full-length mirror, and took care to brush and tie her hair back with a strip of leather and arrange it just so. _The things I have to do._ Then, she walked to her washbasin and splashed the chilly water from the bowl onto her face recklessly. After a quick scrub, she dried herself with a soft towel. _I can't believe he's not here._

She popped three mint leaves into her mouth, ground them between her teeth, and swallowed the chewy paste with the hope that it would calm her stomach. She gazed into the mirror again and pinched her cheeks with two fingers as she applied some salve to her chapped lips. _Stupid Cullen._ She stared at her reflection. Noticing her face seemed pale and fraught with tension, her frown deepened. "Time to face the music," she sighed. "Maker, help me." Then, Finola scrambled around the room nervously, tossing on her armor and sheathing her blades.

After running down the stairs, she grumbled goodbyes to Bodahn and his son. "Oh, and Bodahn, I'll be at the Viscount's Keep. If any messages come for me, I want them taken there immediately. No questions asked. Just have the fastest courier deliver it to my hands."

"Of course, messere."

Flinging open the door, she added, "And if I'm not with the Seneschal, I'll be at the Hanged Man!" Then she sprinted away in the direction of the Viscount's Keep, praying the meeting would go well, and that Seneschal Bran would be far too busy to keep her there for long.

* * *

"Good day, serrah. You're looking well."

Walking as fast as her legs would take her, she dashed past the throngs of people milling around the keep, all waiting to see the Seneschal. She dreaded the conversation that was to come and desperately wanted it to be over and done. Fighting to steady her breathing, she stood before the man guarding the Viscount's office, Bran's temporary domain. "I'm here to see the Seneschal."

The guard nodded. "He's been expecting you."

 _Of course he has._ Finola had avoided going anywhere near the Keep, specifically steering clear of Bran for fear he would pressure her unduly. When she was ready, she would accept the viscountess seat, and not a second before. But there was another reason to avoid Bran, and she prayed that her fears were unfounded. Time was now up.

Finola kept her eyes on the door and tapped her foot to no particular rhythm. After rapping twice, the guard pushed the creaky door open just wide enough to shout, "The Champion's here to see you, Seneschal Bran."

"Ah, good. Show her in."

His voice, so eerily like Sebastian's, had her shrink back for a moment before she stepped across the threshold. The door closed with a loud thud and Finola strode further into the room, moving to stand next to the only window, which overlooked the large courtyard below. She kept her eyes on the dimpled glass, unfocused on the outside activities.

"Let me guess, Hawke," he said in a rather chipper tone. "You've decided to accept the viscountess position and couldn't wait to tell me the good news."

"Yeah, something like that," she agreed coolly.

He shuffled some papers on his desk before standing to greet her. "Why so glum then?" Walking out from behind the large table, he moved closer to the window, and her. "I should think you'd be happy to share your decision with me."

"You knew I'd take it." Finola felt his eyes upon her back, and a shiver went straight down to her toes. "Just let me sign the papers and I'll be out of your hair," she offered, careful not to turn and look at him.

"And if I said I'd like you to stay a while and perhaps… reminisce of old times together, would you?"

 _Damn it_. _Maker, please don't let him say it._ She stepped away from the window, nervously clenching her fist, and turned to him, stern faced. "I'm betrothed to Sebastian now. In fact, we are to discuss our wedding plans tonight."

His eyes roamed up and down distractedly, and he licked his lips, the memories of what lay beneath her armor still fresh in his mind. "Finally snared the exiled prince in your trap, did you? How nice." She suddenly felt awkward, as if she were standing naked before him, and unconsciously, crossed her arms over her chest.

His golden eyes went to hers then, and as her plans began to disrupt his thoughts, his expression turned sour. She met his gaze with an equally troubled glare. "It seems you played that hand rather well, Finola. I imagine he doesn't know of your, shall we say, _mysterious_ side yet? Oh, but I remember those nights as if they were yesterday."

"Stop it, Bran. A lot has happened since then, and I'm not here to make your fantasies come true. I'm here on business and business alone." She forced a serious expression, finding it hard not to recall how she felt in his possessive arms not so long ago.

"And I shall keep your secrets, as long as you give me reason to. I still find it quite entertaining that in your weakest moment, you sought absolution from your seneschal instead of the chaste brother." His voice sounded strained to her, forcing insult from his lips to be spiteful. He was hurting, and she knew it. "You were willing as a harlot too. Such a pity it had to end."

He barely flinched when she struck his face. "Don't you dare speak of me in that manner," she sneered, but the reddened handprint faded quickly.

His hand came up to stroke his cheek lightly, a lascivious grin turning up his lips. "Ah, there's the fierce tigress I remember."

She stepped back, an error in judgment, as there was a small table on either side of her, and she effectively trapped herself between Bran and the window. "You know as well as I that what happened between us was a mistake, a foolish mistake. You took advantage of my emotional state after... I was drunk that night, and you used me to protect your own ill-gotten gains."

"Drunk only the first night, tigress. And don't fool yourself. You used me as well." He stepped closer, his body not quite pinning hers to the wall, and she felt his heat on her exposed skin as he reached up and rested his hand on the wall above her head. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Remember how you wept upon my shoulder, calling out _his_ name in the night?" She froze, his deep, accented voice dripping with a domineering passion that she remembered all too well. "It was _I_ , your dutiful seneschal whom you embraced with shameless ferocity while _he_ prayed every night in the Chantry, begging forgiveness for his own immoral thoughts." His other hand came up to caress her shoulder and then smooth across her chest, finally coming to rest on her neck. His fingers squeezed her skin ever so slightly, and a corner of his mouth turned up when he felt her shiver.

Finola shifted uneasily feeling a flush rise to her face. "Please, Bran… don't…"

" _I_ was the man you implored to absolve your sins, the man who held you down and allowed you to surrender your obligations." Her eyes drifted closed as he whispered slowly, drawing out his words. "And _I_ was the man who taught you how sweet punishment could feel, the man you called _Master_ in those dark hours."

She swallowed thickly as his teeth grazed her ear, his voice hypnotically arousing. "Stop it, right now." It was meant to be a shout, a deafening and intimidating cry, but her words came out as a mere whimper.

"This manner of talk still titillates you, doesn't it?" he baited, gazing down at her cleavage. "I can see the flush rising from your breasts, so do not deny it. The wanton glow rather suits you."

Slowly, an image of Sebastian's face crossed her mind, and guilt drove her voice louder. "Don't flatter yourself. This flush is anger, not desire."

"Come now, Finola. You can't lie to me." He was right, she couldn't lie to him. He knew her almost as well as Varric, only more intimately.

"Step back, Bran, before this gets uglier." She leaned forward, squaring her shoulders, but her boldness only spurred him on.

He kept his focus on her, his fiery amber eyes unblinking, and she was trapped in his gaze. "I believe of all the many pleasures we shared, the one you remember most of all is how it felt to wrap your legs around me as you begged me to fuck you, begged me to thrust inside you and take your innocence."

Her eyes pinched closed and her head turned slightly, wanting to erase the memories of those guilty pleasures all together. There was no worthy response, no way to take back what she had pleaded for him to do, and so she remained silent.

"Remember what you said to me?" His hand snapped to her jaw and he forced her to face him, to acknowledge her shameless pleas. " _Please, Bran,_ you said, _please, I don't want to be pure anymore. Take me_ _and claim my innocence as your own."_

Her head pitched to the side, extricating her chin from his grip. "You're right about one thing. I did use you," she said with forced calm, and then she swallowed hard. Hearing his words, _her_ words, pained her to her very core. "I used you and tossed you aside, and that eats away at you, doesn't it? If you weren't so hungry for power, you may have actually been worthy of my time. But, as it was…"

"I'll admit I was surprised by your lack of interest afterwards. However, _that week_ , you couldn't get enough, could you? You sought me out every free night you had for days."

"Like I said, a mistake," she sneered. But she felt glued to the wall, unable to register what was happening for the hunger she felt, the need to have someone's hands on her, and his hands had been _so_ skillful...

"Maybe, but I didn't hear you complain when I put my hand between your thighs like so…" A soft hand, smooth and free of calluses thanks to the moisturizing balms Bran indulged in, ran down past her hips and he slipped his fingers upward, past the skirting of her armor. His fingertips touched her with feather-light strokes along the supple skin of her inner thighs until he reached his objective. "How delightfully you moaned when I brought you to the edge. You wouldn't even be allowing me this small amount of teasing had your prince already done the same for you, am I right? Go on, Finola, spread your legs for me now. Let me release this tension I feel radiating from your body."

For a moment, she felt a shiver, an _ache_ for more as the memories of their shared intimate moments, wild and reckless as they were, drifted across her mind. But she told herself it was Sebastian's touch that she wanted now, the rough strokes of an archer, not the nimble fingers of the Viscount's subordinate.

"Take your hands off me, Bran." She slapped him away, more delicately than she intended, and pushed him back, long strides taking her towards the door. "I'm not one of your Lowtown whores."

"Not Lowtown, no." He clasped his hands behind his back and laughed, but moved to keep close to her as she reached out for the door handle. "He thinks you're a marvel, a perfect example of virtuous propriety. He hasn't a clue yet, the poor fool," he whispered with a feral smile. Chuckling at her visible discomfort, he sauntered closer and leaned in, his auburn hair intertwining with the blonde strands near her ear. "I would take care to maintain that _wholesome_ act of yours, Finola, lest he see your obvious lust, your want for discipline for all your shameful deeds. And when he finds out…."

Her mind spun as she detected a trace of satisfaction in his tone, his words steady and rhythmic, assertive, and her face burned with a flush. "You know nothing of our… relationship. He loves me and that's… all that matters." Finola stumbled over her words, troubled by the hot rosiness sweeping across her chest and she added breathlessly, "Careful, Bran. I'm not above murder, and you know this well. We are even on all scores."

"And _your_ threats hold no water in here. We shall see where your appointment to viscountess leads us then. For now, do as I say and act the part, or the consequences will bode ill for you."

His blatant warning sent another shiver down her spine. "Sebastian would never hold my _association_ with you against me." She turned to him, not sure what to expect next.

"But you'll never tell him, and I know why. So let's not quibble over this anymore. Just know, _Champion_ ," he smirked with a wicked gleam in his eye, "I am more than willing to satisfy your decadent needs. Who knows what the future will bring to Sebastian Vael? And you may find him boring yet."

"Don't you dare speak his name again. And don't underestimate me either. The woman you knew then no longer exists. I _will_ tell him, and then you will have nothing to hold over my head. You will be deemed useless in my eyes, utterly useless."

"Ah, but a tiger's stripes never change, Finola dear," he mocked, his voice deeper and quieter than it had been.

She had allowed him to see into her heart, into her soul even, and he was nothing if not perceptive. She took a deep breath and reined in her anger and the resentment she felt for him as well as for herself. "You know how hard I've worked to get to this point. I will not see everything ruined because of my transgressions."

"Then perhaps you and I can come to a mutual agreement." She turned her head away as he brushed some stray hair from her eyes, and he allowed his expression to soften. Tenderly, his hand cupped her cheek as he spoke. "Finola, I am no brute. Those nights we shared linger in my memory, and I find myself aching for you. You may regret what we did, but I do not. I only wish I had a more regal title. Perhaps then you would see me as you do Sebastian."

"I love the man, not the title. What you and I did was… it was wrong of me to seek you out, knowing how you felt about me, and I apologize for that. But please, can't we just leave it be? I do not intend to leave Sebastian for anyone. I'm sorry."

His eyes narrowed then, full of emotions he struggled to contain. Jealousy, rage, hatred, all for the man she claimed to love. "Save your apologies, Finola. You may need them when he finds out the truth. In the meantime, I'll assume you're at my disposal should I feel the need for… comforting."

"What? No, you can't mean that, Bran." Her eyes flashed with fear, then anger. "You can't expect that of me! Why would you want an unwilling participant in your sex games? Why lay with a woman who does not desire you?"

"Is that the whole truth? You desired me once, Finola. I knew I was a substitute for him, but the things you said to _me_ … If you can look into my eyes and tell me you hate me, tell me you find me utterly reprehensible, I will reconsider."

 _I hate you, I truly do! Tell him and be done!_ "Bran." Her breath caught as her mind screamed hateful barbs, but they were lies, and she looked away. As easy as dishonesty had come to her in the past, she couldn't deceive him now, and she couldn't make excuses for their intimacy because there _were_ no excuses. She _had_ wanted him. She had felt liberated and _alive_ in his arms. He had never judged her when they lay together late into the night, never said her desires were immoral or shameful. And she had enjoyed their private talks too, exchanging stories of their younger years, sad tales of lost parents and siblings, and happier ones of a more carefree time. She felt like herself with him. "I don't hate you," she said, submitting and letting go of the last bit of tension.

He grabbed her forcefully then and kissed her hard on the mouth. She struggled to pull away, surprised by his bold move, pushing against his chest with solid fists. Still, he held her close, his tongue plundering her mouth and his fingers squeezing her arms roughly.

She felt him release a small amount of tension from her arms, felt his muscles relax, and the kiss suddenly turned sweet and sensuous. His ragged breathing intermingled with hers as his hands slid around her waist and pulled her close. She couldn't resist his lips on hers then, pleasing and warm, as he reverently murmured her name in between breaths. Then, as fast as he had latched on to her, he let go.

He nodded, his mouth curved in a half-smile, and her eyes blazed with disbelief. He caught her hand as it flew up to strike him again. "Once was enough, Finola. Let's save this playful brutality for another time, hm?" Her arm dropped, a jolt of guilt rippling through her, and she cringed uncomfortably when Bran reached out to caress her face. It was then that she noticed his confident smile fade and his eyes narrow with a distant sadness. "Allow me to show you how it _could_ be for us, Finola, if you'd only give me the chance."

There was warmth in his voice, and tenderness in his touch. She knew then that he did not intend to hurt her physically; he only wanted to feel her closeness, to relive the connection they had shared before. "If you meant that, if you truly cared for me, you wouldn't use those nights against me. We can work this out, Bran, and still remain friends."

"Friends. Do you really find me that unpleasant now?"

"You _know_ I don't. But my future is not here in Kirkwall. My future is far away from this rat-infested city, with its mages and templars, and battles for control. My position as viscountess will not last for years." She gazed at him thoughtfully then. He had potential to be an ideal husband and provider, and she couldn't understand why he hadn't settled down yet. "Bran, you could have any woman in this city at your side. Don't you want a wife, a family? Think of what that could mean for you. You _would_ be happy."

"There's not harpy or a whore in Kirkwall with the fire _you_ possess, Finola. My standards are rather high, I'm afraid."

"We were not meant to be, Bran. You know this. If I had a choice, I wouldn't take this position. I'd leave as fast as I could. But, you know I can't, not yet anyway. Don't make this any harder for you than it needs to be."

"You won't give me another chance then, will you?"

For a moment, she saw the man he was, not the arrogant and sarcastic Seneschal. He was a man capable of caring and loving, a man with needs and dreams for his future like everyone else. She had spent so much time trying to forget the raw passion they had shared, that she had forgotten the simple pleasures too.

But it was a fleeting glimpse, and his antipathy took over once again. "The prince beckoned and you ran to him like a bitch in heat."

"Bran, please. We can work together, as equals. Maybe by the time I leave, you could take over. You could win the people's hearts, with my help."

"Your help," he scoffed. "As tempted as I am to fall for your phony sympathy, I think not. You have made your selfish choice, and I have made mine. You will make sure my position is secure by pleading my case to the templars, to the people, or to the bloody Maker if need be."

"You're position _is_ secure, Bran. You don't need me. No one else could do your job."

"Ah, but there is always a vulture waiting in the treetops, ready to swoop down and snatch a dying animal. As long as you're on my side, I shan't have to worry about that happening. Make no mistake, Finola, I _will_ use certain unsavory information to my benefit, to keep you in line and at my disposal. I think you can agree that it would be a shame if Sebastian caught you with your hand in my cookie jar, yet again."

"You would force me to betray the man I love? Even after I've said I'd help you, you would still hurt me like this?"

"As you have hurt me."

"I did so unintentionally!" She wiped her mouth roughly with the back of her hand and sneered. "You can't blackmail me this way. I'm the Champion for Maker's sake!"

"Ah, but when we were together, you were just a wicked woman who wanted a slow and dirty tumble. And I'm more than happy to oblige again. Or do I need to mention certain clandestine meetings you may have had with Sister Petrice and her lackey Varnell? Or perhaps the name of that blood mage you assisted might encourage you to reach an agreement with me."

 _Bloody stupid mages, and that damned Qunari mess_. "Bran, please, don't do this. You're better than this, I know you are."

He ignored her pleas, too far gone in his hopes and fantasies as his eyes darted back and forth with anticipation, his head reeling with plans. "What say we meet tonight?"

"Money, power, titles. You name it and I'll make it happen," she blurted quickly.

"I have no doubt you would, but I already have a comfortable life. There is only one thing missing, or rather, one woman. And I won't even complain about playing second fiddle to your prince. Why can't you admit that you desire me as much as I do you?"

Sebastian would be mortified and insulted, to say the least, but more importantly, hurt beyond words to hear of her indiscretions from anyone other than herself. Even then, he might still leave her, but she had to be the one to tell him. _Shit, shit, shit_. "I'm going to tell Sebastian everything today, all of my indiscretions, and then your game will end. You will make an enemy of me, Bran. Is that what you want?"

"You'll say nothing because you won't risk his righteous anger. And if you think you can stab me in the back when no one is looking, think again. Every finger in this city will point to you." Bran turned around suddenly and shouted at a closet door. "Jasper, you may come out now!" A guard emerged from behind the door wearing a sinister grin.

"A spy? I can't believe you'd sink so low." Stunned as she was, she could only stand there and shake her head, her mouth agape.

"You know I'm a forward thinker, Finola. But I'm not enjoying this, contrary to what you believe." He waved the guard over. "Jasper, tell this lovely lady what you've just overheard."

"I heard you threaten to kill Seneschal Bran, my Lady. You said you were going to kill him deader than the last griffon. I believe some of the other guards heard you too. Well, that is after we heard you say you wanted to suck his- "

"Enough! Thank you, Jasper. Wait outside." The guard hurried out the door, but not before staring at Finola with a lecherous sneer.

"To stoop to such a level, even for you…" _Shit! I have to find Sebastian and tell him. It's the only way. Maker damn it all to the void._ "I should have known this would happen."

His brows furrowed, his lips turning down a bit, and she knew her approach had to change. There was nothing else she could offer Bran but herself, if only for the one night. _Reel it in, calm, stay calm, and think back to those nights…_ "As you have left me with no choice, I will do as you ask."

His mask was back in place, arrogant and cynical as ever. "Ah, there's a good girl. And don't forget to take the extra seal of the new Viscountess of Kirkwall with you. You never know when you'll need to draft a letter. Or, I can bring it with me when I come to your home tonight. You've never invited me over yet, you know. That's just rude."

 _Damn him_. "Please, do _not_ come to my house. I will come to you, when I can get away."

"I have such delicious plans for our reunion, Finola. I promise, you won't be disappointed."

 _How could I have let this go so far? Why, why is he doing this?_ "Shall I," she paused, swallowing the lump in throat, "wear anything special? I mean are we to have a formal dinner?" she said in a cordial and low tone. She offered him a vaguely flirtatious smile, careful not to seem too willing.

Tipping his head, he ran his thumb across her chin, slowly moving it towards her mouth. As he pressed his thumb to her lips, she let them part, allowing him to sink his finger into her mouth. "Wear something… revealing, I think." Her tongue swirled around as she watched his eyes widen, his pupils dilating with arousal. "You're still a naughty girl, aren't you?"

She took his hand and gently squeezed it. "It's your fault, Bran," she whispered with a half smile.

"You see? We're not so different after all."

She leaned in and let him kiss her cheek, all the while thinking, _First, I'll go to Varric's. He'll have what I need, just in case. Then Sebastian, and oh, dear Maker give me strength for that. Please let him be home._ Finola went still, and turned her head towards him. "Keep your back door open tonight." Their eyes met and her voice caught for a moment before continuing on, breathy and weak. "I can't risk being seen."

"As you wish."

A loud knock rattled the door then, shocking her out of the covert talk, and Bran called out to the guard. "Enter!"

"An urgent message for the Champion." She snatched the note as he held his hand out to her.

"As popular as ever," Bran quipped.

Finola grimaced and tore open the message, her heart beating so fast she felt dizzy. She knew what it said before she read it, and in the fog of anxiety, she was unaware of Bran's inquiring eyes peering over her shoulder.

_Dear Finola,_

_I must meet with Lord Mirend outside the city lines, and I don't expect to return before dawn. I'm sorry, love. I hope you can forgive me for attending to this critical meeting. I love you, and I long for your touch as each moment passes without you. But worry not. I promise to make it up to you._

_Ever yours,_

_Sebastian_

"Isn't that sweet. A love note," Bran whispered, his voice lilting past her ear. "It seems you are free all night after all, hm?"

"So it seems." She spun around, her yielding stare surprising him. For all his threats and insults, she understood what made him tick. She felt a kinship with that part of him, and oddly, knowing that Sebastian would be gone until the next day, she wasn't entirely angered that Bran had forced this outcome. Now, she could take her time and plan the evening perfectly, knowing this would be the last of it, that it would all end tonight.

"Until this evening, then." A curt nod was all she afforded him before she headed out the door, the slam of his heavy office door echoing off the walls of the keep. Once again, she found herself rushing away, fleeing from her past, and heading to the Hanged Man as fast as feet could take her.

* * *

Finola poked her head through the doorway to Varric's room. "Varric, I need your help."

As he reclined in his favorite chair, a sudden concerned look crossed is face. "Geez Hawke, you look like you could use a pint… or three."

She shuffled her feet back and forth, cracking her knuckles, and breathing heavily. "I'm in a tight spot, a really tight spot."

"Oh boy, now I'm worried. What happened? Did you run Choir Boy through with your souvenir Qunari sword?" he joked.

"Worse."

One look at her face and he knew it was bad. "Okay, have a seat and tell me what you did. You're pacing is unnerving me."

She pulled up a chair and spoke low. "Varric, you know me better than anyone, and you know I had my reasons for… doing some irrational things in the past. And I should've listened to you, so don't say it, but, I'm really fucked this time. _Royally_ fucked."

One eyebrow rose up. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your meeting with that snake, Bran, would it?"

"How does news travel to you so quickly? No, don't tell me. Look, you're the only one who knows what happened with him, and I wanted to keep it that way, but…"

"Blackmailing you, is he? No big surprise there. I warned you, Hawke. I warned you, and told you to come clean with Vael, but does anyone _ever_ listen to me?" Varric sighed and took a long pull from his ale. "So, what do you need from me? A shrouded messenger of doom?"

"If I could have him killed, I'd do it myself," she grumbled running her palm across her forehead. "I don't want him dead anyway," she said as an afterthought. "But he had spy, in the closet no less. I have to meet with him tonight."

"Hawke, just tell Choir Boy already. You know those religious types. They're all about forgiveness and atoning for your sins. I'm sure you can manage a few acts of charity as penance." Varric sucked down another gulp of ale, his eyes studying her expression.

"It's not that simple. Sebastian is out of town and won't be back until tomorrow. I just need something to knock Bran out, put him to sleep for the night, and then I can tell Sebastian everything tomorrow without having to... you know. "

"Hm, I think I can help you with that. Why don't you tell me all the details about your romantic evening last night while I gather the supplies?" Varric leaned in and grinned.

"Varric, I owe you. And you know I love you like I love my mabari, but I'm not going to tell you anything." She looked at her friend, always amazed by his faithfulness, a loyalty she took for granted, until that moment. "Before we get to the specifics, I want to thank you… I want to thank you for your support and friendship over the years. It's meant a lot to me, although I've never really shown it."

"Oh, don't get all sappy on me now, Hawke. I know you love me. And _you_ know I've never judged you, never said one bad thing about you. I don't really want to now, but… Can I just say one thing?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Go on, get it over with."

"You're an idiot sometimes. My favorite idiot, but an idiot nonetheless."

Her quiet laugh was utterly despondent, and she shook her head. "You're right, Varric. Everything I've done has come back to haunt me. My mother would be disgraced, and Bethany, thank the Maker she's not around to see this mess."

Varric's smile disappeared and he sat up in his chair. "You did what you had to do, for yourself, your family, for Vael, shit, even for me. Every now and then we have to pay the piper."

"This might cost me everything, Varric. And if the worst happens, I don't know what I'll do." He could see her straining to hold back the tears, almost at the point of a breaking down.

"Oh, come on, Hawke. First things first." He jumped up with a key in hand, unlocked a chest, and grabbed three vials. "Let's go mix up some sleepy time for the snake. I might even have a little something to mess with his memory too."

"Thank you. My trusty dwarf to the rescue again." She smiled brighter, a little more confident that her night would _not_ progress the way Bran wanted it to. "I really should have married you, Varric. Things would have been a lot easier."

"There's only girl for me, Hawke. And she's getting a little dusty come think of it. Maybe I'll take Bianca out for some target practice in case I need her to split a certain seneschal's skull in two."

Finola squeezed his shoulder in an unusual display of affection. "I'll never forget this, Varric."

"You've said thanks about three times already, Hawke. That's enough. I hear you." Varric nodded and held up the vials.

"Right. So, tell me what to do."

"Okay, watch closely, because if you make a mistake with the amounts… well, let's just say your evening could take a different kind of turn."

"Great," she deadpanned.

"And you have to mix this within fifteen minutes of using it, or it'll be as useless as water." Finola watched carefully as Varric demonstrated the exact number of drops to put in the empty vial. "Five drops blue, and four brown. Shake the vial, and then pour it into his brandy. That simple."

"Maker, Varric, what if I mess it up and forget the number of drops?" Finola spared a quick glance at his calm face.

"Don't."


	5. The Truth in Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The Truth in Your Eyes**

The door of Bran's study opened slowly and a shrouded figure stepped across the threshold. The firelight's glow cast shadows about the room in warm hues of orange and gold, and it was almost too dark to see Bran's expression. A pair of eyes peeked out from under the loose material on the hood of a full-length cloak, eyes that held a fierce gleam, determined and unwavering as they stared at the sneschal.

For a moment, Bran's heart leapt into his throat, an irrational fear of an assassin's blade righting wrongs as it sliced across his neck. A single bead of sweat slipped down his forehead as he twirled the brandy snifter in his hand.

The intruder took another step, a stride too delicate for a man, and shoulders too narrow. A faint scent of rosewater wafted past Bran's nose, carried on the breeze coming in through the doorway. He blew out a long-held breath, and then sipped his drink casually.

"You really should avoid stealth, my dear. It's not your specialty."

She glanced at Bran, noting the large candelabrum nearby, its light falling across the couch and illuminating his sculpted face. Finola grinned. "Scared you, did I?"

"Hardly. I was quite focused on this delicious Orlesian brandy when I heard footsteps heading this way. I know the sound of your quiet footfalls, tigress. Your fancy shoes are not nearly as silent as your boots."

"I don't believe you," she said, her voice a little higher pitched than usual.

"What don't you believe? That I wasn't fearful, or that I know the slight shuffle of your gait? Could it be _your_ fear that you're putting on me?"

"I don't fear anything but the Maker's wrath, and I don't see Him here at the moment."

"And why would the Maker seek to punish you? Because of your scandalous thoughts?"

"Not mine, no." _Maker, don't strike me down for my actions tonight_. Finola walked to a table closest to the doorway and laid her small leather purse down, careful not to disturb the vials within. "Is this how it's to be then? I thought we were beyond this petty nonsense."

Bran picked up another glass of brandy and held it up with an eyebrow wiggle. "You're right. A pissing match is far too pedestrian for the likes of us."

"My ears are _burning_ from such crude talk by our respectable sneschal," she teased. His jovial banter and playful mannerisms were amusing Finola, but she wondered what it all _really_ meant.

"Oh, pardon me for offending your delicate sensibilities. Maker forbid you stomp off in a royal snit."

Finola laughed at her fake pretentiousness, a small necessity to maintain her sanity. "Your humor always shines in the most objectionable of situations."

"Then divest yourself of that hideous cloak and come sit with me. I have plenty more witty remarks at the ready."

She shucked off the cloak, revealing a bright blue dress to match the azure of her eyes. A row of gem-like buttons stood out, dotting a column from just below her cleavage to her stomach. The lines of her dress followed the contours of her body, tight across her hips and flowing out to sweep behind her. She held out her arms and furnished him with a curtsy. "Do you approve?"

"I do." His eyes narrowed and gleamed with a predatory satisfaction. "You look quite lovely tonight."

Finola caught his eye and struggled not to smile at her success. "Thank you."

With long, languid strides, she came toward him and sat, her thigh just grazing his, and she crossed her ankles as she shimmied on the couch for comfort. He reached out and handed her the glass of brandy, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on her face as she smiled and nodded her thanks.

The study was comfortable, secluded, and her eyes darted around the room, coming to rest on a side table adorned with fresh flowers and lit by several candles of varying heights and colors. Platters of cheese and bread covered the table, flanked by dessert treats and several bottles of wine.

"That's quite a spread for two people." He was so careful with his manners and his proper, straight back that she snorted unintentionally when she turned and looked at him.

"What?" he asked, his voice sharp. For a moment, he thought she was poking fun at him, but her eager smile said otherwise.

"Is it all for me? You eat like a bird, so.…"

"Well, I wasn't sure what your appetite called for, and accordingly, I thought better to be prepared than caught short."

"Ah." She twiddled her thumbs, searching her thoughts for a lively conversational topic, but none would come to her.

She had not anticipated a _romantic_ evening. She thought his plan would be straightforward: threaten her, have his way with her, and be done with her. It would have been so much easier if she was angry and defensive, and could slip him the sleeping draught without a thought to his well-being. However, he was acting like a gentleman, thoughtful of _her_ needs, and certainly enjoying her company.

She had been anxious all afternoon, hoping the night would end quickly with Bran fast asleep, but now…

Everything about Bran was pulling her to him. She thought of his redeeming qualities: his clever wordplay, his commanding voice, and his knowledge of politics. He certainly wasn't hard to look at either. A strong, almost regal nose and a chiseled facial structure, combined with a lean, muscular physique, made the seneschal a remarkably handsome man. Physically, he hadn't changed much over the years. But he had lost a certain amount of his smarmy self-importance. On occasion, Finola detected notes of hopelessness in his voice, and that never sat well with her.

While lost in her reverie, he grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed it gently, his eyes warm with a smile. "Finola?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just thinking about-"

"Please don't say it yet. Can't you allow me a few moments of pleasure before quashing my notions of the evening?"

"You don't even know what I was going to say," she scoffed, pulling her hand away.

"I've no doubt it was something about _him_ , or maybe your new title. Can we forget about those two items tonight, or is that too much to ask?"

"Actually, I was going to ask you if we could eat something." _Maybe if I accidentally knock over the pitcher._ "I'm feeling quite famished."

He regarded her rigid body, her hands clasped and held closely near her waist, a slight but steady toe wiggle. "You seem nervous, Finola. I don't bite... hard," he said with a tantalizing grin. "Well, except for that one time…."

And that was the ice-breaker.

She laughed, incapable of forgetting a particularly wild round of lovemaking with him. She had cried out his name as his teeth sank into her flesh, biting her hard as they wrestled for position in a frenzy of tangled limbs and powerful thrusts. At that same moment, they had climaxed together, rough hands seeking to mark a temporary brand on each other's body. Once their breathing had slowed, they had clung to each other, alive in the moment but weary with muscles spent.

It was then that Bran had realized the faint taste of blood in his mouth as he nuzzled into her neck whispering naughty words of intent. His head had pulled back, a look of absolute shock on his face when he noticed the red smear and a trickle of blood dripping down her shoulder. He had immediately launched into apologies as he leapt from the bed to obtain a cloth. She had laughed at him, the pain barely existent, and certainly part of the previous pleasure, but still, he apologized. With each tender swipe, he washed the wound until the evidence of his roughness was but a slight marking. His gentle and affectionate manner had surprised her, and she had teased him mercilessly. But her mockery had gone too far for his liking. Payback, it had seemed, was due.

So quick and nimble were his fingers that he had tied her wrists together with a silken handkerchief before she had a chance to protest. His fingers had traced along her skin slowly with strokes that barely touched her flesh, arousing her to new heights for what seemed hours. It was _excruciating,_ and had left her wanting for more.

"You know, when I first met you, I never thought you could be so… caring with a woman. I'd heard rumors of your _spirited_ escapades, and then I saw you in Anders' clinic… I assumed you were just a hedonistic libertine, much like the women you sought out."

"Ah, you embarrass me, Finola. That day you saw me in the clinic, I… I had never been so embarrassed in my life. Lucky for me Anders was such a skilled healer. I did take his advice though. I stayed away from the docks, permanently."

"And spent your time at the Blooming Rose instead? A healthier place, for sure." She took a sip of the brandy, wrinkling her nose at its sweetness.

"Actually, I swore off whores for a while. I kept busy with work, watching and waiting as you made your assent to Champion."

"Like a stalker?" she blurted.

"Like a man in…" Their eyes locked, the minor stumble over his words not missed by Finola. "… a man in a rather difficult position." She expected him to recant and then gloss over its meaning. Instead of denial, something entirely different was evident in his gaze, and it concerned her.

"About all this…." She waved her hand at nothing in particular.

Her sweeping gesture elicited a grunt from him. "Not to your liking then."

"I just expected this to go… differently."

"If sex were the only thing I wanted, I'd be elsewhere. You presumed we would have a go at it and then I would toss you out, correct?"

"No… well, yes, but… All this food and drink, the mood you've set, _your_ mood. I almost expect musicians to serenade us while we dance the Remigold," she chuckled.

When she glanced over at him, his expression was quite telling. He tipped his head, emotion flaring in his eyes. "Do you not see, Finola? I-"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Bran. Don't do this."

He grabbed her wrist and lunged for her other hand, grasping it forcibly and pulling it up to rest beside the other on his chest. Her eyes widened and she twitched, a shiver burgeoning from deep inside her. He held her hands tight, his palms slightly damp with sweat, and his eyes boring into hers. "Let me say it, just once," he whispered with a slight waver.

She held her tongue, hoping it would somehow end the madness. Guilt tensed her muscles, and remorse pulsed through her veins like a poison. But she wanted to hear it, needed to know that what they had done was an affair of the heart as well as the body. Somehow, that would make it easier, bearable, and less dishonorable.

"I don't expect you to feel the same for me as you do him. We are… very different men, after all. But, were you mine, I would love you with the fiercest of hearts, make no mistake."

"Please, don't say it. I won't listen." She turned her head to the side, her eyes closing tight.

"You _will_ listen," he demanded in a rush of breath, and she clamped her mouth shut, the sensation of his rough touch stilling her. "I never wished to hurt you, or put undue constraints upon you. I know you think me a charlatan as I've manipulated this situation to benefit myself, but I've become desperate, you see. And yet, this is not the man I wish to be, and I only know this because of your… persuasion."

"Then _don't_ be this man. I know what you're capable of, Bran. If you can sit here and reveal your thoughts to me-"

"Why then don't you want me, Finola? And _don't_ tell me your main objection is my manipulative treatment of you this morning. We have a history, you and I. Before today ever happened, before we shared intimate moments less than two months ago," his voice rumbled as he placed his hands upon her shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes. "There were times when I _knew_ I saw something in your gaze that spoke differently."

She drew a deep breath, feeling the heat rise between them. "I can't deny some things. You made me see sense after Seamus was killed, offered solid advice about the Qunari problem, the mage and templar issues, none of which I asked for, by the way," she smirked, attempting to ease the tension unsuccessfully. "Even so, you tried to help me resolve some very unpleasant situations. I knew you had ulterior motives, but I also saw another part of you, a part that you hid from everyone else. I saw a man who stood by Dumar's side in the most difficult of times. You mourned Seamus as if he were your own son. There were times when you wanted to be appreciated and commended for your strategies and your support for the Viscount. And you were often looked over, or ignored. But I knew the truth. I knew you always acted for the good of Kirkwalll, even more than you did for your own personal reasons."

"And so you felt sorry for me?" he spat. "How very noble."

Her face turned hard, offended. "It wasn't pity, you idiot, it was empathy! You've said it yourself; we are not so dissimilar. We've used people, abused our authority, but we have a deeper understanding of the consequences of our decisions, and the burdens we bear as a result."

He gave her a serious look. "True enough. But I won't allow you to dismiss what we shared not so long ago. It _was_ more than a fleeting liaison, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"You're right, I can't. I _was_ captivated with you those days. Sebastian had left for Wildervale to seek aid and I was lonely, despondent and feeling hopeless. Initially, I used you, but I did come back to you because…."

"Because?"

She owed him that much. She didn't like that the truth might encourage him, nor did she take pleasure knowing that her eventual rejection would hurt him deeply. Steeling herself for his reaction, she breathed in and closed her eyes for a moment in thought. The truth echoed in her head, and she wanted to kick herself. Maybe it would be cathartic, to tell the truth for once, to say what she knew she had felt with him, and then she could move on and his hold over her would dissipate.

"Tell me, Finola," he whispered. A wayward strand of hair fell over her eye and Bran moved it back into place. His hand lingered against her cheek and she pressed into it. She wished she could hate him.

Having gathered her resolve, a flurry of confessions rushed from her mouth. "I came back to you because you were intoxicating, a passionate man driven by a primal lust that I couldn't resist, and you _freed_ me, you freed my darkest desires, and made me feel _whole_. You made me feel _wanted,_ valued. And I'd never felt like that before."

"You _were_ wanted, you _are_ wanted," he avowed, never expecting to hear those words from her lips.

"No." She sat back, inching away from him. "Things are different now, everything has changed."

"Why? Because Vael professed his love for you?" He reached out and quickly grabbed her hand, holding it cautiously. "Or because he's your escape route from Kirkwall."

"Please don't say that. He means much more to me."

"Does he?" He reached up and brushed his hand along her cheek, and she raised her eyes to meet his. She stared at him for a moment, wondering why his impassioned gaze made her heart pound so hard. His hands began to move towards the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. Moist lips replaced the hands that had left her cheek, carefully nipping and kissing around her ears and neck.

"Bran," she whispered into his hair as her eyes snapped shut, immediate desire flowing throughout her body. In that moment, it was as if all of her tensions melted away. The silent worship from a man who had just let her see into his heart overwhelmed her.

She tilted her head back slowly and met his lips with hers. The kiss was needy and intense, low moans transferring from one mouth to the other. She felt his hands move towards her chest, his skilled fingers finding her aroused peaks just beneath the smooth fabric of her dress. One palm pressed against her breast, then squeezed and pinched drawing a soft moan from her lips.

"Finola," he whispered, letting his head fall so his forehead could rest on her shoulder. His eyes clamped shut at the pleasure that was washing over him, and he didn't want the feeling of elation to end. "Maker's breath, I want you, Finola. I _will_ have you one more time."

The certainty in his voice, in the deep tones, had riveted her to her seat. "No, we musn't." Her words were weak and ineffective. She swallowed and moistened her lips, not daring to look into his eyes. _Stop this, now. Push him away._

His fingers worked the buttons on her dress, unfastening them one by one, until the last button popped free. His hand was hot as he closed it over her breast, kneading roughly. His remarkably quick fingers had Finola suck in a desperate breath. The moment she gasped, his mouth was on hers, firm and demanding. The kiss deepened in a blind rush of carnal longing, and she savored the heady taste of his desire as the air rushed from her lungs.

Bran broke it off, allowing her a deep breath while his lips moved to tease and tug at her nipples. He took as much flesh into the wet heat of his mouth as he could, and a strangled cry came from her. His eyes glinted wickedly as he lifted his head and moved his attention to her other breast. "Don't hold back, Finola. You _will_ scream for me." The dominant tones in his voice sent shivers down her spine, such delicious shivers.

He drew back, but he didn't straighten, keeping his lips mere inches from hers. She studied his expression. There was no hint of apology, triumph, or even satisfaction showing in the sharp planes of his face. But his hunger was clear, and she felt a craving stir within her.

She didn't say a word, and kept her eyes fixed on his, and slowly, his hands went to her face and he held her steady, lowering his lips to hers, sliding hard against her mouth, his tongue plundering. She hesitated for one instant, then kissed him back.

What started as hungry, changed to ravenous. The kiss was a revelation, so bold and full of meaning, so unlike any other kiss she had received from a man, even Sebastian. He wanted her, all of her. Not just her body, but her devotion, her love, her heart.

He was closer, his body near yet not upon her. Then his weight shifted and he pushed her down, pressing her back against the couch as he lay atop her. She felt the evidence of his desire, the hard throbbing pressing against her stomach. Her hands were everywhere, searching and tearing open his shirt, greedily caressing his firm chest.

 _What am I doing? This is pure lust. Desire isn't love. This. Isn't. Love._ "Bran, wait… I need a moment. A drink of water. _Please_."

Bran lifted himself up and sat back, smoothing his hand over his tussled hair. "You're timing is impeccable, as always."

Finola straightened and buttoned up her dress, thinking, _The time is now. Clear your head and do what must be done. No more dawdling and-_

A sudden noise stopped her thoughts, an unexpected door crashing open and hitting the wall with a thud. Finola's head jerked around and her breathing ceased. For a moment, she was dazed, her mouth agape as the pure white radiance from Sebastian's armor burned her eyes. She jumped off the couch, away from Bran, never taking her eyes off Sebastian's face; hurt, torment, rage all melding into one utterly hopeless expression.

"Finola? What is the _meaning_ of this?" His voice boomed across the room, the shadows no longer concealing her sins. "You and he are, are what? _Lovers_?" he spat.

An irrational moment of betrayal hit her like a boulder. "Who told you I was here?"

"Did you honestly think you could skulk about Hightown without someone noticing your whereabouts?"

"I… I wasn't skulking. Bran and I were meeting to discuss-"

"Meeting? And you attend _meetings_ in your finery, do you? _This_ is why you didn't want me to accompany you! How could you lie to me? How could you tell me you loved _me_ one night, and then jump into _his_ bed the next?"

"No! No, Sebastian, let me explain! It's not what it appears!"

Sebastian ran forward, his eyes dark and threatening. "And _you_!" She had forgotten Bran until Sebastian knocked him to the floor, his hands gripping Bran's throat as he plunged his full weight upon Bran's midsection. "You _animal_! You dare to touch her, to paw at her like one of your whores! I will _rip_ your heart from your chest!"

Bran was unable to speak coherently, small gurgles and grunts coming from his lips as his fingers clawed at Sebastian's strong hands. His legs flailed and slammed against the floor, and he tried to push Sebastian off, but the archer was of greater strength, bolstered by his fury.

Finola panicked. "Let him go, Sebastian! Please!"

"This! This is a _perversion_! Your filthy hands all over her, I'll kill you!"

"Sebastian, stop! It's _my_ fault, not his. _My_ fault!" Every sound was amplified. She yelled over Bran's grunts and Sebastian shouts, her own pleas and the sounds of Bran's thrashing, all in a cacophony of desperation.

"You couldn't have wanted this!" His voice was strained and full of anguish, denial. "Did he force you? Did he hold you down, make you do things against your will? Tell me!" For a moment, Sebastian wished it were true, wished she was an innocent player in this horrific tale. But the terrible images kept appearing in his mind; her hands caressing _Bran_ , her lips pressing against _Bran's_ , her writhing on the couch with _Bran_. "No! I am not stupid, Finola. I have eyes. There are _no_ words you can say to me. What I just witnessed was crystal-clear! "

"Stop, you're choking him!" Finola grabbed Sebastian's shoulders and pulled him as hard as she could, but he was too enraged to let go. Her action had provided a brief respite to Bran, and he sucked in a tremendous gulp of air before Sebastian continued his assault. Finola got down on her knees and put her face in front of Sebastian, pleading for him to stop. "You're going to kill him! You will be hanged if he dies!"

"I don't care!" Sebastian's hands shook as he gripped Bran's neck harder, the light slowly leaving Bran's eyes as he began to pass out.

"I had no choice! He threatened to tell you-" She cut herself off and looked at Bran's unconscious face. _No more lies._ _No more lies!_

Sebastian turned and saw the look in her eyes, the abject guilt, fear and sorrow. He was silent for only a moment. "You _wanted_ this. You wanted _him_ ," he growled, pain and anger flashing in his eyes.

She shrank back. "He didn't force himself on me, Sebastian." Her chin dropped to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her hands, her nails biting into her palms.

Every plan, every thought to his future dissolved in an instant. His heart sank and his hands loosened at Bran's neck as he stared at her, sickened by her admission. She looked at him, and blinding rage was all she saw when the back of his hand came up to strike her, and she winced, turning her cheek to accept the blow full force, forgiving him before it even landed. But it never came.

Her eyes slowly opened. "I'm so sorry."

"Andraste have mercy on my soul," he whispered. He wanted to reach out and soothe her, to take back his sinful display of anger, but he was paralyzed. "I… I didn't mean to scare you," he said finally. Then his jaw set harshly. "All lies, every single word. And for what? What did you gain?"

She deserved what he gave her, and she didn't have any right to defend herself. She shook her head, tears dampening her cheeks. "Not _all_ lies. I love you, I truly do. Just give me a minute to explain why I'm here, my love-"

"Do _not_ call me that," he snarled. "I _am_ _not,_ and clearly, have never been _your love_." He stood up and paced the room, his hand gliding through his hair, his breathing ragged. Looking at her, his eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he stiffened.

"Sebastian, wait!" she begged. "That's not true! I'll tell you everything and you'll understand!" Her heart was breaking from the pain she saw staring back at her.

His hand was on the door, and he stared at her as she jumped up from Bran's motionless body and ran to him. She grabbed his arm desperately, but he pulled away with a hiss. He couldn't stand the sight of her. "Goodbye, Finola," he said, his icy tone matching his steely glare.

"No, you can't mean that." The finality was jarring, and she sobbed, tears cascading down her cheeks. "Please, don't leave. I love you, I need you, please, Sebastian..."

His mind was seizing up, muddled with vile images. He saw her lips moving, but he couldn't hear her, her pleadings just a background noise blending with the chaos in his mind.

"Please, I love you! You're everything to me!"

He was nauseated, dizzy and vulnerable. He didn't know what to say or think or feel. Complete numbness.

"Please, don't leave like this... I love you!"

Sebastian stumbled out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

She was frozen in place, stunned and bereft. But as sudden as his departure, she felt something rise from her stomach, pushing up through her chest. "Bran." She ran to him and dropped to the floor, ignoring the grief she felt. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and looked down at him. He was pale as snow, unmoving. Holding her breath, she lowered her head to his chest, and the sound of his heart drummed in her ear. "Thank the Maker."

Her fingers gingerly touched the redness on his neck before she moved her hand to caress his cheek. "Bran, can you hear me? Try to say something."

He sputtered a strangled cough, and his eyelids strained to open. "Mnmn, yes."

"Bran, I'm going to sit you up and lean you against the couch." All her strength wrapped around his chest as she hoisted him and propped him up. "Can you open your eyes? Bran, look at me."

His eyes fluttered open and went straight to the table closest to the couch. "Top drawer… there…"

She reached over and fumbled with the drawer frantically, stretching and fingering around until she felt a small vial. Pulling it out, she held it front of him. "This?"

"Mmm… yes." She pulled the cork out with her teeth, placed the vial at his mouth and tipped it, the pink liquid flowing out. He swallowed and almost immediately, his color improved. "Ah, thank you."

She touched his arm, the warmth of her hand giving him comfort. "Maker, Bran, I thought he killed you."

He smirked, his wits slowly coming around. "Sorry to disappoint you." His eyes widened a little, and he blinked a few times as her face became clearer. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "But I deserve to be, and he almost..." she trailed off, but he caught her meaning.

"No. Never that," he said in a hoarse voice barely above a whisper. Bran felt his anger rising, and fought to maintain a calm façade. This was not the woman he knew, and he cursed Sebastian Vael to the Void for causing her such misery. "He raised his hand to you, that bastard. Just say the word…"

She shook her head again, long blonde hair hiding her face from his sight. "No." She pulled away from him, scrubbing her face with hands. "No reprisals, Bran. I don't know what he's capable of anymore." He put a hand on her bare shoulder as she cried, and she trembled under his touch. "My mother once told me it's better to be told a hurtful truth than a comforting lie, but I didn't believe her, until now."

"Finola," he began, reaching for her. "Please…"

"He'll never forgive me, will he?" she asked, her voice choked with tears. "And I can't blame him."

Suddenly, he felt like a stranger in his own house, and he withdrew his hand, unsure what to do next. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Don't say anything. I _know_ he won't forgive me." She turned to him, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. "It's over." Her resolve began to ebb away, leaving her strangely empty. She fell into his arms and pressed her face against his chest, releasing every ounce of tension her muscles held, lifeless as a rag doll in his embrace.

A part of him celebrated the turn of events; a door that had almost closed forever was now blessedly wide open. Yet seeing her so broken, so _powerless_ , tore him up inside. He knew then that _he_ had to be her strength and her backbone, at least until she came to her senses.

"Listen to me." The command was issued through clenched teeth. "You are _not_ a defeatist, Finola. What you feel is very raw, but it will abate with time. You _will_ get past this."

"Will I?"

"Absolutely, and I will see to it." Bran looked at her reddened face, her lids heavy with grief. For an instant, he thought he would lose his mind. "You can weep for him all you want tonight, but know this: I will _not_ allow you to wallow in self-pity for long. Understood?"

He felt a slight nod, affirming her intentions.

Whether or not she meant it, he wasn't sure, but it was a start. "Go ahead and cry then. I'll take you home when you're ready."

Bran's words reached her ear as a mere whisper. He wrapped her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her hair, his body like a shield absorbing her muffled cries and shudders.

However long the night, Bran would soldier on.


	6. Inner Demons

Finola stared into the golden swirls of her ale, her eyes slowly closing as she mused.

 _If I just ignore everyone, everything… I can almost hear his voice whispering in my ear, feel his skin on mine, his lips on my lips. Oh Maker, please let me see him again, and I'll tell him the truth. All of it. Ah, but who am I kidding? It certainly isn't the first time I've screwed things up, and it won't be the last._

 _Own up to your mistakes, Fin. So many chances and I've botched every one. Like that day in the Chantry. Oh, how I enjoyed staring at Sebastian's glorious backside that day… until he said he needed to regain Starkhaven. Ach, I can almost feel that lump in my throat right now. Of course, I panicked, but at least I forced myself to ask him if he was actually leaving so soon._

" _Not yet. I have much to do before I can leave." When he turned and looked at me with that sweet, confused smile, I should have kissed him right then and there in the Chantry. Why didn't I? Stupid. "Tell me Hawke, who better serves the Maker: a brother of the faith, or a prince who can sway a whole city?"_

 _I was so careful answering that question. What did I say? Something like, "More people follow the word of their king than their priest." That was a pretty solid answer given my nervousness._

 _Sure Starkhaven needed him, but he wouldn't leave Elthina to the mercy of the apostates. He wanted us to put down their rebellion and solidify the Chantry's hold, as if that were even remotely possible. Stupid mages. I didn't give one whit about the bloody mages and templars, and I still don't. I should have mentioned that to Sebastian, I guess._

 _And I_ _just had to know his intentions, didn't I? "Will you go alone? Or will you bring someone with you?" I must have sounded like a dithering young girl._

 _And then he laughed. Laughed! He must have been amused by my forwardness. But it was such a warm and contented laugh… a laugh I may never hear again. No, I won't think that way. When he said, "The prince of Starkhaven and the viscountess of Kirkwall" as he was chuckling, Maker's breath, I almost lost it. But then he did say something that gave me a little shred of hope. He did say that we would be the strongest alliance the Free Marches has ever seen. An alliance though? That sounded so... dull and formal._

 _Did he only want me for my title? No, I don't think so. But did I care? Not really. I just wanted us to be together, together in any way I could make happen. Apparently, that was too much to ask. But I knew he saw the glimmer of hope in my eyes because he took my hand in his and squeezed it. I saw it in his gaze, his expression, the way he tipped his head and grinned. "You deserve no less than a prince, Finola." He must have wanted me that day, and not for my title either, I'm sure of it. The feeling of him pulling me closer and brushing some hair away from my face... His lips were so close and I wanted to eat him up, but then he kissed my forehead… Like I was his bloody sister! I think I whimpered. I must have, because he asked if I was all right._

 _I did smile at him then. Sweet Andraste, I was totally in love with him. I_ am _totally in love with him, and now... Ah, but it was so perfect that day. I was more than all right; I was euphoric! Well, except for the lack of kissing. Some joke, telling him that I've been kissed on the lips before and it wouldn't kill him to try it._

 _Of course, he didn't fall for that one. Stubborn man. "Don't think I'm not tempted, but I am still committed to my vows, at least as long as I'm here doing the Maker's work in Kirkwall."_

 _Couldn't I have come up with a better response than asking if he needed heirs? I should have just come out and asked him to jump me instead. Tch, I never was any good thinking on my feet with attractive men. I'm sure he didn't know then that I loved him, that I was_ in _love with him. But I remember the shy smile he wore, and my knees almost gave out._

" _Hawke, I, uh, haven't really thought about heirs… I guess we'll think on that another time."_

 _We? Oh, that was so awkward! I should have crawled under a rock, but I put my foot in my mouth instead. So, a political alliance then? Yes, that should do the trick. Because I really want to run this Maker forsaken city! But I was eager for it to seem like I thought it was a good idea. That was a big mistake, I think. Maker, what a dysfunctional relationship!_

" _Hawke, you're my best friend. You know it would be more than that. Although, if I remember correctly, you laughed at the idea of a chaste marriage."_

 _I couldn't believe he mentioned the chaste marriage idea again! Stupid, stupid! What was I thinking? I couldn't even come up with a defense. If I had only said yes to that blasted_ pure in the eyes of the Maker _marriage, we'd be together the way it was meant to be. And he would have given in sooner or later. I just know it. Nothing would have happened with Bran… poor Bran. And I wouldn't have had to see Sebastian so broken last night, with such contempt in his eyes. I'd be on my way to Starkhaven as his wife...the soon to be Princess of Starkhaven. Maker, forgive me, I'm so sorry, Sebastian… Sebastian…_

 _And look at Kirkwall's Champion now. I'm sitting here, clutching my beer – alone, unwanted, despised, completely miserab-._

"You look like ten kinds of shit, Hawke." Varric planted himself on a seat next to her.

Her eyes snapped open, and she quickly caught her fourth mug of ale before it toppled and spilled across the dingy table. "And you look like- like," she struggled for a comeback, "like a fucking dwarf who should mind his tongue!"

Varric nodded. "Now we're getting somewhere! I saw Choir Boy today, you know." Far be it from him to let anything fester. "He's putting his back into clearing the Chantry rubble. Barely said a word." Varric shrugged. "But then, he _is_ spending time with Ser Broody."

"I am in no mood to discuss him, or anything else right now." She waved her hand. "Please, go harass Isabela."

"I will when she gets back from her _meeting_. With that open relationship she has with Fenris, my money's on the Blooming Rose. Where's your coin at?" Varric stared at her, not accustomed to seeing Finola so down, and so disinterested in a friendly wager. "Are you just going to sit around and cry into your ale? You know, Hawke, the seneschal's not all bad. You could do worse."

" _Worse_? Is this your way of cheering me up?"

"Just saying. He came around here earlier."

"Slumming already?" A jealous twinge rippled in her heart. "Which girl did he screw?"

"He was asking after _you_ , Hawke. Honestly, what do these men see in you anyway?"

"Yes, do tell," a voice drawled from behind Finola and Varric.

A slight smile turned up her lips, the first sign of anything other than sadness from her all afternoon. "Hello, Bran."

Bran walked up behind Finola and put his hands on her shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze. Without thinking, she raised her arm and gently ran her thumb over the back of his hand, and he squeezed her shoulders again, his release not as abrupt this time. Oddly enough, that made her happy, knowing that at least Bran still cared, even if Sebastian didn't.

Noticing Bran's little smirk, Varric studied him and thought about why Finola had sought him out in the first place. Maybe the seneschal was able to reach the depths of Finola's emotions which she carefully hid from her friends. But how did he do it? It took Varric _years_ to understand her, to _get_ to her, and even now, she confounded him on occasion. In the end though, if Finola was happy with Bran, then Varric would support her choice. But one wrong move….

Walking around the table, Bran sat opposite Finola, his eyes narrow and curious. "You look especially unattractive, Finola dear. Your hair is a disaster, and you have bigger bags under your eyes than my hound. Have you been here all afternoon?"

"Yup, and I don't intend to leave now either." She finished off her drink and waved the empty glass at the server. "Hey! Another ale over here!"

Varric looked at Finola, surprised by her reaction, or her _lack_ of a reaction. Finola was letting Bran get away with such disparaging remarks and Varric could only assume that she truly was fond of him. He knew she didn't love him though, at least not in the same way she did Sebastian. Somewhere in his mind, he knew this whole mess would not end well, but he ignored his unease, for now.

Bran kept his eyes upon Finola, ignoring Varric's loud finger tapping on the table. "The sun will be setting soon, you know." Bran shook his head at Finola's silence. "How many drinks have you had?"

Finola strained to lift her head to face Bran and managed to give a weak, hardly noticeable shrug. "Three, four."

"I'm going to bring you home… again." He shot a deliberate glance at Varric. "And I'll have that dwarf-servant of yours draw you a bath."

Remaining quiet, Varric wondered if he should kick Bran out of the tavern, or just take his own leave before things turned ugly.

Finola didn't give Varric a chance to decide. "Can you leave us, please? I need to clear up a few things with Bran… alone."

"If you say so, Hawke. I'll be at the bar if you need me." Varric pinned Bran with a "watch your step" kind of glare, but Bran just rolled his eyes and looked away.

Waiting for Varric to be out of earshot, Bran simply gazed at Finola, his heart aching to snap her out of her melancholy. He remained silent as the server placed a new ale in front of her, and when the girl walked away, he clapped his hands twice to get Finola's attention. "Whatever shall we discuss first? How about your sudden penchant for brooding? Or perhaps the odor emanating from your general vicinity?"

"Why do you think you can get away with talking to me like this?"

"Because I _am_ getting away with it, right now, as we speak." Bran laughed and then wagged a finger at her. "If you behave, we'll discuss your political strategy while you rid yourself of the stench."

"All right, I get it," she muttered, batting away his pointed finger.

"Do you _get it_?"

" _Yes_." She leaned back and looked up, meeting his curious eyes. "But I'm not leaving until I finish this glass of swill here," she said holding up the full mug.

Bran groaned, his frustration on full display, and he motioned to the server. "Whiskey!"

"Do they even have that here?" she asked, her voice full of feigned innocence. She flashed him an impish grin. "Whiskey, huh? Sure you can you afford it?"

"I know _you_ can, and you owe me." No argument came from her, which was surprising to Bran, knowing how stingy she often was.

Then she heard a familiar sound - Bran's renowned, long-suffering sigh - and Finola chuckled. "I don't know how you do it, but you always manage to make me laugh. Of course, I'm laughing _at_ you and not _with_ you."

"Ha, ha. Very droll." He raised his eyebrows in sudden thought and quickly reached into a pocket. "While you're feeling so chipper, care to tell me what these are?" He held up two vials, one brown, and the other blue.

Her eyes pinched closed, wondering how she could have forgotten to take her bag with her when Bran took her home the night before. After some fidgeting, she crossed her arms and stared at the table blankly. "Shit."

"I think not."

She shot him a look of outrage, tempered by a smirk. "Where's my bag?"

Bran slapped the small leather satchel down on the table. "Before you start yelling at me about your privacy, I only looked inside to make sure there was nothing important you needed."

"And I'm supposed to believe that? You're a snoop, plain and simple."

"But you were planning to poison me," he countered.

"No I wasn't! Combined, the two liquids are just a sleeping draught."

"Ah, so you thought you'd knock me out before our evening turned depraved." Bran sounded rather wounded and peered beyond her shoulder.

"Something like that." Finola leaned forward. "Look, I didn't use it, right? So, nothing to be angry about."

"Angry is not how I would describe what I'm feeling, but you are not in the right state of mind for a rational discussion about this." He pushed the pouch towards her, an unreadable expression on his face. "Anyway, take a look inside."

"Is there an explosive in there?" Bran rolled his eyes, yet again, so she lifted the flap, peeked in the bag, and then squinted. She raised her head to look at him. "Are these… truffles?"

"Fresh from Orlais." Finola raised an eyebrow. "All right, fresh from the market in Hightown."

She pulled one of the chocolate confections out with eager fingers and shoved it into her mouth. Before she had even finished swallowing, she whispered to him with eyes closed as she savored the treat. "Oh Bran, it's delicious."

For a moment, his face lit up. "I _knew_ you'd like it."

When she opened her eyes, her smile faded at his unexpected somber expression. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but you need to start acting the part of viscountess. _Your_ office is a disaster, papers piled in every corner, and you must write _and_ send letters of intent to particular heads of government in quite a few cities."

"Can't it wait a day or two? I'm so bloody tired of politics."

"You haven't even done a lick of work yet! I told you I was not going to let you stew in self-pity, and I meant it."

"Andraste's tits, but you're a slave driver!"

Bran held his chin up. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would." She shook her head and then took a sip of her drink.

With his eyes darting, Bran thought for a long moment before his gaze settled on her. "I… didn't thank you for your honesty last night. I'm sure I didn't deserve it."

"Of course you did." Finola gave his hand an affectionate squeeze, and then returned it to her drink for another swig. "Never doubt that I care for you a great deal, Bran." In the same instant, she abandoned her serious tone for a cheerful one. "And I'm never going to lie again either, about anything."

"What a splendid idea." His jaw tensed, struggling to contain his emotions. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking unimpressed.

The detachment in Bran's posturing, coupled with her tipsiness, made it easier for her to broach another subject. "Sebastian has stayed away, you know. Not a word. Nothing."

"I _do_ detest him so," he snapped, his lips twitching with bitterness. But her gaze troubled him; he saw something haunting, something aching of loneliness, and her brows furrowed before her head drooped. "Forgive me, Finola, I shouldn't have said that. But you are _not_ alone. _I'm_ here for you, in any capacity you need."

She felt his eyes upon her and she lifted her head, feeling guilty and selfish. "Oh, I'm sorry, Bran," she said softly, trying to suppress a sudden rush of tears. "I seem to chase away friends at an alarming rate these days, and I don't want to chase you away too." Her voice was shaky, her words slurring the slightest bit. She reached out her hand again, and Bran gripped it tightly, noticing her slight tremble. "You know how grateful I am for your concern, don't you?"

"I do." He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. "It would take more than a few thoughtless words to make me turn away from you."

She wasn't sure she heard him right, stunned by his public display of affection. Naturally, they were well beyond such immature fancies, but she did find it rather romantic. "I can't believe you're allowing the drunks of the Hanged Man to see your affectionate side."

" _Drunks_ being the operative word. I can always deny it." His grin changed to a rakish smile. "But you know, better than anyone, of the more _motivating_ qualities I possess."

Seeing her blush at his swagger, he desperately wanted to take her somewhere else; a place without memories of Sebastian Vael, a place to create _new_ memories.

Genuine affection illuminated Bran's smile. "I have an idea. We were both invited to the celebration in honor Chisholm's first grandson tonight. Why don't we get cleaned up and head out for a night of dining and dancing?"

"Oh, I don't think I'm really up for that, Bran."

"I'll make it worth your while," he tempted. "If you say yes," he paused, regarding her with several tilts of his head, "I will write _all_ of your letters of intent, and you will only have to sign them."

"Oh, really? That _is_ an attractive offer. But how about if we add one more good deed? You have to supply my office with fresh flowers every day, and cook me dinner at least once a week, and bring me truffles when I get angry or bored or-"

"Enough! That's _three_ deeds. Stop there, and I will indulge you because I," he swallowed, his heart racing, "because I enjoy spoiling the people I love."

It was an effort, but she managed to mask her surprise as well as the small surge of remorse mixed with glee that shot straight to her heart. Foolishly, she opted to tease him. " _People_? Give me names! I want names!"

No cutting remark from an angry citizen or any censure from the Viscount had affected him the way her sarcastic words did at that moment. "You think this is a joking matter, Finola? I've said things I never _dreamt_ I would say to you, admitted my feelings for you, whatever the outcome. You need only accept or reject them, but do _not_ belittle them."

She put her hand out to prevent more words from him, hating to hear the anguish in his voice, and she stumbled through her apology. "You're right, and I'm v-very sorry. That was terribly insensitive of me and... I was only trying to be funny… but… I'm sorry. " _Oh Maker, I'm such an id-_

"Champion Hawke!"

Finola's head spun around and she launched from her chair. "I'm right here, Samuel!"

"This message is of the utmost importance, serah. It comes from your friend Merrill, in the alienage." The young orphan handed her the missive, turning to leave at once.

"Thank you, Samuel." She unfolded the note quickly.

 _Dear Finola,_

 _It seems I've messed up again, and I need your help. Please come to the fish merchant near the docks. And do hurry._

 _Your friend,_

 _Merrill_

"Damn it. She's always getting in over her head." She handed the note to Bran, who couldn't help but sneer at it as he read.

Bran looked uneasy. "You knew that boy?"

"You're suspicious, but you needn't be. I've dealt with him many times before, and this looks exactly like Merrill's writing."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I am. Don't question the Champion, Seneschal Bran," she said in jest, but she still felt horrible for treating him so callously. "Look, I know this ruins your plans, but I have to help her. Why don't you join me on a short walk through the bowels of the city?"

"I ask you to a party, and in return, you ask me to go for a walk through the muck of Lowtown." Bran raked his hand through his hair, careful to smooth the strays back into place afterward. "I can think of nothing more… _disgusting_."

"And I think you need a humbling experience. It'll be fun watching you squirm."

If not for the sudden enthusiasm lighting up her face, Bran would have flat out refused. Nevertheless, he was more than happy to leave the Hanged Man, and he certainly couldn't let her leave alone as his intuition was telling him to be wary. "I assure you, there will be no squirming on my part. I've already seen the dodgy and revolting alleyways Kirkwall has to offer, probably more times than you have."

"Sure you have," she mocked, turning to walk toward Varric as she shouted. "Hey Varric, we're going to Merrill's!" Finola reached out and handed Varric the note. "Here. This is where we're heading. I'll see you later!" Varric waved back with a somewhat apprehensive look, but they were gone before he could formulate a good enough reason for her not to go.

An hour later, Isabela returned to the Hanged Man looking extremely agitated. She threw back a shot, savoring the warm sting as it trickled down her throat, and then she sighed.

Varric walked over to her and reached up to slap her on the shoulder. "Isabela, you look a bit perturbed. Was one of your elven love slaves off work today?"

"I _wish_ I had gone to the brothel," she groaned. "Why on earth do I hang around with that girl? She just doesn't think!"

One of Varric's eyebrows rose. "Who are you talking about?"

"Merrill. We were down at the Chantry site and she managed to get everyone's smalls in a bunch with her magical tricks."

For a moment, Varric looked as though a blow to the head had struck him. "Shit. Shit! I should have known…." His skin faded to an ashen white, knowing they had to act fast. "Isabela, run back and get Fenris and Vael. Tell them Hawke's in danger and then meet me by the shipyard."

"What are you talking about?"

Varric fought against his fear and his anger in equal measures, his words coming out fast. "Hawke got a note from Merrill asking to meet her at the docks, and she took off with Bran to go to her. Obviously, it was phony if you were with Merrill the entire time. Something's up, and we've got to get to her."

"Blast it all! I hope Sebastian doesn't lose it now. He already seemed half out of his mind."

"Maybe this will help him to see the light," Varric said hopefully, his voice filled with emotion.

"Let's find her first, before anything… We have to find her. " Isabela nodded calmly, as if nothing out of sorts had occurred, then she turned on her heel and dashed for the door.

* * *

"Sebastian, stop and have some water. You look like you're about to pass out." Fenris drew a deep breath, and his brows furrowed as he looked at Sebastian.

"I'm fine, Fenris." Sebastian dug his shovel into the charred earth and continued to scoop the Chantry debris.

"You are _not_ fine." His voice was firm, clearly tired of having to tell Sebastian this _again_. "Now, stop acting like a victim and drink this, or I'll be forced to let Isabela beat some sense into you." Fenris held out the water skin, unwavering.

Sighing, Sebastian moved to sit on a large, blackened heap of rubble and took a long drink. After wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked up at Fenris' glower. "All right, go ahead and say it. I'm surprised you've kept quiet for so long." Soaked in sweat, Sebastian's broad shoulders hung down as his arms limply rested on his thighs, the water skin dangling between his knees.

News of the last evening had travelled fast. Sebastian had told Fenris upon his return to Fenris' house. Of course, Fenris told Isabela, and together, they pieced together the surprising details. Isabela went to Varric almost immediately, but Varric already knew about Finola's past with Bran. This new development, however, made for very a long night of beer and gossip.

"I'm a very patient man." Fenris squatted down in front of Sebastian.

"You know, if not for your colorful escapades in the past, you'd never have met her. And now, you're holding against her the very thing that made your parents put you in the Chantry."

"It's not the same! I was young and reckless. She's not a rambunctious youth in need of guidance. She should have known better than to let that _animal_ use her the way he did."

" _Use her_? You must be joking, Sebastian. If anything, she used him." Fenris frowned and then shook his head. "But that's not my point. She's made some mistakes, but who hasn't? She _is not_ and will _never_ be Andraste and you know it. You need to see Finola for who she really is, then decide if she's still who you want. Above all, she's a woman with needs that _you_ clearly didn't satisfy. I've never known you to be in such denial."

Sebastian heaved a sigh, unsure of what to feel, and how to handle it once he acknowledged the truth. "She _did_ give herself to him freely. She told me as much. I just can't believe she fooled me into thinking she loved me."

"Haven't you heard a word I've said? Finola _does_ love you. But you didn't make _your_ feelings obvious soon enough. How long did you think she'd wait?"

Sebastian gritted his teeth. "I waited! I never _once_ thought of another woman, and I certainly never touched another."

"Well, bully for you. How can you hold everyone up to your ridiculous standards?" Fenris scoffed. "Whatever it was that she needed, she found with Bran, but it doesn't have to end there."

"What would you have me do? Forget what she did with him? Ignore all her lies? She broke my trust in her. She slept with another man. She made me look like a fool!"

"So your ego is bruised, so what. You would lose her over your stubborn pride? Tell me, Sebastian, do you still want her? Are you still in love with her? And I mean are you in love with the woman she _is_ , and not the paragon you've created in your mind."

Sebastian shook his head, pinching his eyes closed to hold back the tears. So many of the reasons he loved her were the very causes of his disquiet. She was impulsive, flirtatious, ruthless, and often ill tempered, but all in some way he found endearing. And he knew she used those flaws as defenses against the constant pressure and demands she faced as Champion. But the times he remembered most fondly were when she had allowed him to break those barriers down, to let him see that she wanted guidance and encouragement, the support of a trusted friend. And when he was alone with her, he wasn't just a throwaway son or the last heir to a throne. He was a companion whose advice was appreciated and respected, and he was proud of himself and his accomplishments. He _was_ worthy of her, and she of him. She really was all he had ever wanted.

"Maker help me. Of course I still love her."

A small chuckle escaped Fenris as he stood up, smirking. "Then there is only one course of action for you, and it doesn't include praying to the Maker for guidance."

"I may still love her, but I don't know if I can forgive her, _ever_."

There was frustration and anger, even disgrace in Sebastian's admission, but he still loved her, and that was all Fenris needed to hear. "Only the strong can forgive, Sebastian. You are not so weak that you can't start over, are you?"

"Are you?" he challenged. "Have you forgiven Denarius and your captors?"

"No, but now you're comparing apples to oranges. Have you learned nothing from this rubble you stand in?" he asked, toeing some stones. **"** Your life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, Sebastian, but by the moments that take your breath away. If you wish to move on without her, so be it. But I would think long and hard before you make that decision final."

"Teaching you how to read philosophy seems to have backfired on me," he joked glumly. "I shall think on what you've said, Fenris. And thank you. You're a good friend."

"As are you." Fenris smiled as he grabbed the water skin from Sebastian. "In fact, I think I'll drink to that."

"Sorry to interrupt your little heart-to-heart, but you two have to come with me." Isabela was breathing hard, and she bent over, resting her hands on her thighs as she took in gulps of air. "It seems Hawke's in a spot of trouble… We need to head to the docks."

Sebastian jumped off the rock and blinked, shocked by Isabela's sudden appearance."What kind of trouble? Is she hurt?"

"I don't know. She was lured away with a forged note from Merrill." Isabela had that look; the same expression Sebastian had seen when Isabela fought against the Arishok. It was a mixture of fear, despair, and hatred, and she unloosed it all on Sebastian. "If it wasn't for your damned ego, this might not have happened!"

Sebastian's breathing ceased, his heart gripped with terror. As the dusty air filled his lungs, he heard the faint sounds of the city around him breaking through the sound of his pounding heart. He grabbed Isabela by the shoulders and shook her. "Tell me everything!"

"We've no time!" She pulled away from Sebastian's grasp, disgusted, yet sympathetic. "Just get your weapons and follow me. I'll explain on the way!"

Isabela turned and sprinted away; away from the rubble and disaster that changed everything, and away from Sebastian and his damnable heartache.


	7. Healing Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: By definition, this chapter contains sexual harassment, sexual battery, and attempted sexual assault. It's not really graphic, but the non-con might be a trigger.

Nighttime began to fall on the city, the streets eerily devoid of pedestrians. Finola's defenses heightened as they reached a darkened alleyway near the docks. "Bran, stay close," she whispered. "Something is… not right down here."

Finola heard a crackle, and then the sound of running feet, dark figures surrounding them. In an instant, she unsheathed her daggers, gripping them tightly, a fierceness glowing in her eyes. She felt a wave of energy descend upon them, throwing her slightly off guard. Her head snapped toward Bran, who stood at her side, his eyes wildly scanning the circle of attackers. "Say nothing, Bran."

"And here is the famed Champion of Kirkwall. Take a good look boys! This is the last time anyone's going to see her again." Dark eyes stared at Finola. He was clearly the leader of the group, dressed in elaborate leather armor, with greasy black hair and dark skin all blending together to create an intimidating figure.

Bran moved to stand in front of Finola, steadfast and tall. "I advise you tell us who are you working for and then leave, or this will not end well for you."

"Get a load of him, Damon!" one of the men mocked, jerking his thumb in Bran's direction. "The seneschal fancies himself intimidating."

Irritated with his subordinate's disclosure, the leader threw up a hand to silence the thug and then pointed his chin toward Bran. Two burly men grabbed Bran, twisting his arms behind him and forcing him to his knees.

Finola saw Bran's forehead crease in pain, his arms bent at unusual angles behind him. The swarthy leader then turned to Finola. "You're outnumbered, _Champion_. Drop your weapons and come with us, and they'll let him go unharmed… assuming you don't give us any trouble."

"Damon is it?" Finola's eyebrows rose with a calculating smirk. "Well, Damon, you must not value your life much, and I'm sure your employer values it even less. If you free us now, you may yet escape in one piece."

Finola heard a choked moan from behind her and spun around to see one of the thugs pressing his knife to Bran's throat.

"I said drop your weapons. Now! Or he'll never see the light of day."

Her heart froze with fear. Armed men stood all around, leering and spoiling for blood. She wasn't entirely sure they would kill Bran if she didn't do as Damon asked, but she couldn't risk having him injured or worse. With no other choice, she dropped her blades to the ground and backed away. "You will never get away with this. You'll be hunted like wolves for the rest of your filthy lives!"

Damon rushed forward, the back of his hand hitting her cheek hard. She stumbled backward and three men jumped to grab her and keep her still as Damon thrust his face in front of hers. "Settle down, lady. Or my mage here will _make_ you."

Bran was aghast, his hopes to finish it peacefully dashed with the blow to Finola's face. He felt his blood run cold, but he had to say something, anything to keep Damon from lashing out at her again. The only thing he could offer was gold, although in reality, none of the men looked as if they needed any. It would be futile, he realized, and would possibly increase their hostility. They had only one goal and nothing was going to persuade them otherwise. As Finola's worried eyes fell on him, Bran wasn't sure if he'd make it out alive, but he had to ease her conscience somehow. "Finola, don't worry about me. They won't kill the Seneschal of Kirkwall."

"But they're ready to kill me! So why not you too?"

Wearing a smug grin, Damon interjected as he stared at Bran. "We weren't paid for _your_ hide. You'll not be killed."

Bran shifted uncomfortably under Damon's stare and then turned his head to Finola. "Look at me, _Hawke_. Just think clearly, focus, and do what you must. Remember everything I've told you… everything."

 _Everything, everything… what does that mean!_ "Let him go right now so I can see him freed. He's unarmed and of no danger to you."

Damon laughed. "Get him out of here." In an impulsive effort, Bran resisted, attempting to pull out of their grasp. He was stronger and wirier than they gave him credit for; he freed one arm, landing a hit with the back of his fist on the mouth of one of the assailants. Once again, their leader intervened, jumping forward and hitting Bran on the head with the hilt of his dagger. Bran crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Bran, no!" Finola struggled against their strong hold on her, thrashing her head back and forth, her legs jamming into the ground. She knew it was mostly ineffective but wouldn't give them the pleasure of taking her away without a fight.

"By the time I'm done with you, you won't be saying no," Damon growled before he backhanded her again, trying to silence her.

"Let. Me. Go!" She tried to trip her attackers, sweeping her feet around in a frenzy. Her position, however, made it impossible to reach their ankles, and her movements grew careless as she began to weaken.

Damon moved forward, his beady eyes surveying her flailing. "It's time you stop before you end up with an identical lump on your pretty skull, and there's only one way to accomplish that. Malick, put her sleep for awhile."

"You bastard! I'll kill you myself!" Instantly, the mage's staff glowed a sickening shade of green and then everything faded to black.

When Finola awoke, her vision was blurry and she let out a pained sigh of fear and frustration. Her armor and weapons were gone, and she wore only a torn shirt and her underclothes. She struggled with the thick roping tied around her wrists and ankles, but they were too tight to budge. Trying to focus once more, her vision cleared some, the tears burning her eyes as she surveyed the dimly lit room. She peered around for a means of escape. Four walls and a floor. Nothing else but a slit of a window near the ceiling. She figured it was likely a storage room in the warehouse district.

Footsteps and muted voices echoed outside the room, but one familiar, deep voice drew nearer and then faltered by the door. Damon took a deep breath, and then shouted a muffled order before he opened the door and stepped into the room.

Finola was startled, almost panicked, but reined it in. She pressed her back to the wall, taking deep breaths and gathering strength. But she felt so drained, partially numb from alcohol, but more likely whatever magic they had used to restrain her. She lifted her chin defiantly and pinned him with a steely glare.

He slammed the door shut, sliding the bolt to secure it, and he moved closer, savagery in his eyes. "You're a very beautiful woman. My friends will be so envious of my time with you."

"You realize you'll be hanged for this treason against Kirkwall!"

His eyes were clouded with malicious desire as he reached out and stroked her cheek, leering at her chest, laughing, a low mocking rumble coming from deep inside him. "I wonder if your prince has had the pleasure of fondling these yet."

 _Why would he mention Sebastian?_ "Who ordered you take me? I know you're not from Kirkwall." Finola's mind raced to all the enemies she'd made over the years, but only one thought kept coming back to her. "You're from Starkhaven, aren't you? This isn't about me. You're using me to get to Sebastian!"

"So, you _are_ as smart as they say. I imagine Vael will be along soon, and then we can dispose of the two of you at once."

"He doesn't care what you do with me. You're wasting your time. He won't come."

"Sure he won't," he snickered. "Ah, but what to do with you in the meantime... Shall I tell you what I'd _like_ to do to you?" Damon considered for a moment, his eyes travelling over her partially clad body. "No. Let it be a surprise."

Finola tried to scramble away, but backed herself into a corner. Weakness settled in her muscles, and she found it almost impossible to thrash anymore. She pinched her eyes closed as his hands roamed over her skin, groping her as he moved in to bite the flesh on her neck.

"Maker spit on you, you bastard!" She rammed her head into his, but he barely felt it, the short distance between them not allowing a powerful collision.

In an instant, his open palm slapped her face hard and blood dripped from the instantaneous split on her lip. She was dazed, and didn't feel him grab a fistful of her hair until he pushed her head against the wall, the loud crack of the wood jarring her back to reality. "Quiet, whore. One more word from you…." Damon pulled back with an evil grin. "A feisty one, you are."

He took hold of her shoulders and pressed her back against the splintered wall. As he straddled her hips, she felt sick, her senses heightened in dread anticipation, every nerve in her body waiting to react. Lacking any real strength, her struggling to free herself from his grasp failed.

"No! Don't touch me!" her screams resonated throughout the room.

His anger was rising, and he wrapped his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back sharply, his free hand moving toward her throat. She took that opportunity to sink her teeth into his hand, drawing blood.

Backing off her, his powerful hand swept across her face again, just about knocking her unconscious. "You will regret that!"

She let out a shaky breath as the pain diminished. Unable to shout, her throat parched and burning, all she could do was beg. "Please, don't do this… _please_."

"Not so defiant now, are you? Still, you're a bit too spirited for my liking." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a vial of red liquid. "It seems you need something to make you more compliant. A pity really. I wanted you to _enjoy_ our time together." She pressed her lips closed, but he forced the bottle into the corner of her mouth and she swallowed a drop. Instantly, she felt lightheaded and couldn't stop the reflex to swallow more. "Ah, much better."

She could see, but her vision was distorted as her energy drained, her limbs feeling detached from her body. He sliced the roping and freed her feet, and then did the same with her arms, which fell to her sides and onto the floor. Tossing the blade aside, he moved his hand to dip under her shirt to grab at her smalls, tugging them as he brushed against her flesh. Her eyes fluttered as his hand pressed against her thigh and he loosened his breeches to let them fall from his waist. Moving his head in, his tongue ran over her lips and filled her mouth as he shimmied on her for position.

With her strength depleted, she focused on the door and she let her mind retreat. She stared at the wood, following the grain up and down as she blocked out his low grunts and the vile feel of his hands on her skin. Silently, she began naming every kind of tree she could think of, listing them off, picturing them as she closed her eyes. _Oak… maple… hawthorn… pine… black pop-_

A familiar shriek, a woman's rallying cry, caught Finola's attention, her eyes snapping open as splinters of wood flew across the room. Someone had kicked the door open, its clunk thunderous against the wall. Sebastian's arrow struck fast and pierced the back of Damon's neck, spinning straight through to lodge in the man's throat, its tip just barely jutting out. Damon's eyes widened, his blood seeping from the wound for agonizing seconds before his body slumped and fell onto Finola. The point of the arrowhead poked her chest as adrenaline began to counteract the potions' effect on her muscles.

Isabela rushed to Finola and kicked the corpse off her, throwing down Finola's weapons and armor, which she had found earlier. "You fucking prick!" Then she muttered a longer string of curses as she bent down to cup Finola's cheek with the palm of her hand. "It's all right, Hawke, we're here now." Noticing the rope burns around her wrists, Isabela rubbed Finola's arms from shoulder to fingertip, allowing blood to circulate to her numb hands.

Sebastian ran to her and kneeled at her other side. The pain was so deep in his chest he didn't dare to breathe, feeling as though he would break apart if he attempted to utter a single word. But his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a gentle embrace, and it was with that single motion, that everything broke apart in his mind.

"You came," Finola murmured as he gathered her up in his arms. She let herself relax in his embrace, sobbing with relief.

Then, Sebastian Vael did something he hadn't done since he'd learned of his family's slaughter. He cried.

And as he wept, Finola wearily put her arms around his shoulders and held him, whispering words of comfort. "I'm okay… Nothing a healer can't mend… Thank you for saving me, Sebastian."

"Of course I came." But he had almost been too late. She had been so dear to him, this woman he loved, and he had been moments away from failing her. In spite of everything, he kept asking himself if she was _still_ the woman he wanted, the woman he needed. "Do you think I care so little that I would not come to your aid?" he whispered hoarsely, the sound of his voice making her tremble.

She wiped his tears away with a weak finger. "I'm sorry, so sorry, Sebastian," she sobbed. "Tell me you don't hate me. I can't bear the thought of you hating me."

His gaze revealed the longing he felt for her despite her betrayal, and he fought against the choked feeling in his throat. "I don't hate you, I could never hate you." His whole body ached with pain as he listened to Finola's relieved sobs, her cries joining his family's unheard shrieks that still dwelled in his mind.

So consumed in his grief, Sebastian didn't hear Fenris' soft footfalls, but he didn't pull away as the elf's strong hands gripped him by the shoulders, trying to move him to his feet.

"Sebastian, let Isabela tend to her for a few minutes. Come outside with me."

Sebastian didn't want to let her go, to abandon her, and for a minute, his eyes stayed fixed on her face.

"Go." Finola nodded once, but then caught his hand as he rose on shaky knees. "Sebastian, Damon was after _you_. I was just the bait. You _must_ be careful now."

"Damon?" Sebastian hadn't recognized any of the dozen or so men they had killed. When he glanced at Damon's lifeless body, recognition slowly crept across his face. "That dark hair and skin… He's older now, but he was one of the Harimann's men. Maker, Finola, you almost… just like my family…."

"No," she whispered, her eyes bloodshot and watery. "It's not your fault. None of it."

Sebastian reached out his hand and laid it tenderly against her cheek, feeling the strange chill of her skin. "Yes, it is."

Isabela looked up at Sebastian, gesturing toward the door. "Later for that, hm?"

Sebastian complied, realizing Finola's half-undressed state, his propriety now taking over. "I'll just be outside," he reassured her. His somber smile almost broke her heart as he walked across the room in silence and closed the door behind him.

"Let's get you dressed." Isabela forced a pleasant smile as she buttoned and straightened Finola's shirt, feeling somewhat unnerved by her friend's condition. "That's better." She slipped on Finola's armored skirt as gently as she could, noting that she didn't seem to have been too roughed up. "He didn't…?"

"No."

There was a silence between them as Finola rubbed her face and shed more tears. She gazed into Isabela's concerned eyes and wordlessly thanked the Maker for her friends.

"Dead?" Finola asked, after the long quiet.

"All of them."

"And Bran?"

"They dumped him on Merrill's doorstep, unconscious. I imagine he has a raging headache, but he seemed fine otherwise."

Relieved, Finola laughed a little. "He must have been completely disgusted waking up in the alienage."

"I think he actually retched when he realized where he was, although he couldn't really form proper sentences. That was a sight!"

"Please stop… laughing hurts…."

Isabela was pleased to see a hint of amusement in Finola's eyes, so she kept her tone light and breezy as best she could. "Merrill threatened him with blood magic if he didn't stop trying to walk. You should have seen the look on his face! Anyway, Varric probably escorted him back to Hightown by now. Can you stand?" Finola nodded. "Put your arm around me and we'll get you home and healed."

"Wait. Sebastian… did he say anything about me, about us?"

"Not to me, but I'll try to get something out of Fenris. I have _this_ _thing_ I do with my tongue that can make even the most tight-lipped man squeal."

"Thank you, Isabela. You're… too good to me," she said with unusual warmth in her voice.

Isabela was at a loss for words, but only for a split second. "I'll take your thanks in drinks… for the next month or so."

Finola simply nodded and tried to stand with Isabela helping her to her feet, but she was weak as a newborn and slumped in Isabela's arms. "Fenris! Sebastian! Come help me!" The two men were at her side in an instant, each grabbing hold of an arm as Isabela collected Finola's weapons from the dusty floor. Isabela searched Damon's body and pocketed a few trinkets and papers before heading for the door.

Turning her head, Finola looked at Sebastian, hesitant to speak demanding words, but confident in her need to keep Sebastian out of harm's way. "I won't rest unless I know you're safe. You have to stay with Fenris." She then turned to Fenris and Isabela. "Are you two all right with that?"

Isabela agreed first, speaking for Fenris as she looked to him with a demanding glare. "Of course we are, Hawke."

Finola breathed out a heavy sigh. "Good. Thank you."

* * *

Clara, the new healer, was quite talented. She had tended to every cut and bruise on Finola, even able to reduce the swelling of her battered cheek. Once the mage finished with her healing ministrations, Isabela helped Finola to her chambers, insisting she lie in bed and not on her favorite lumpy chair, before leaving her for the night. Sebastian had already left for Fenris' house, unable to discuss the events of the night with Finola. The last request Finola made before passing out from exhaustion was for Isabela to get word to Bran that she was fine and resting, and she would receive visitors the following day.

Midmorning the next day, a light knock sounded on Finola's door, startling her from a nap. "Come in!"

Sebastian entered the room, his expression worried but calm. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, it's all right. I wasn't really sleeping. Just resting my eyes." Sebastian sighed, sadness that was more akin to disappointment in his eyes, and she knew why. "Okay, yes, I was sleeping. But I don't mind."

"You're looking much better today." He sat down beside her on the bed, stiff and distant, very different from the man he was in the abandoned warehouse. "I just wanted to apologize. I never thought my cousin, Goran, would bring you into this political battle. It may be best to completely disassociate yourself from me."

" _What_?" she gasped, shocked to the core. When she finally found the nerve to continue, her voice was but a mere whisper. "I can handle myself, you know."

"Nevertheless, I can't protect you all hours of the day given the way things stand between us. I suggest you distance yourself from me publically, and word will filter out that we are no longer-"

"It doesn't have to be this way, Sebastian," she interrupted. "Why don't you stay here, at least for a night? I'd be more comfortable knowing you were safe and within reach in case…."

Sebastian shook his head. "No, no. You need to take it easy. So do I. It's really for the best."

"But I'll rest even better if you're here."

He was still so angry with her, so hurt, and yet this was the second time in his life he felt hatred for himself. "Finola, I can't. I just can't"

She couldn't think or speak. He had been her world, her very reason for every action, every move. When she felt as if she were drowning in a whirlpool of self-made deceptions, he had always been there to lift her up, to appease her muddled emotions, even though he didn't understand why her grief had run so deep. He had been strong, like an impenetrable fortress, when he had held her in his arms and whispered encouraging words, but now...

"I should go." He leaned in to kiss her forehead, but she tilted her head back and he was suddenly nose-to-nose with her, his lips almost upon hers. Their eyes met for a moment, trapped in each other's smoldering gazes, before their vision blurred.

She waited for him to do something, _anything_ to prove that he still desired her, that she still could affect him no matter how disdainful he had become. She swallowed in nervous anticipation, but he looked away.

When he spoke, his voice was rough and tired. "Fin, I'm sorry. I can't… not now."

"But you felt it just now, the same as I did. Do you even know what you want, Sebastian?"

"I want… I don't know," he said breathlessly, shaking his head. "I'll never forget how you looked or how you felt that night… never." His hands cupped her face and he kissed her cheek, her tears salty on his tongue. With a startling lunge, he crushed his body against hers and held her tightly, and then he kissed her, a rushed and fervent kiss, every emotion they held pouring into that one moment. But in his mind, all he could see was Finola pressed against Bran with her hands all over his body.

Without warning, the tight grip he had on her relaxed and he released her.

"Finola, I'm sorry. I can't help but see you with him." His voice was a whisper of anguish and turmoil. He pulled back and turned away, more saddened than angry.

Weighing her options, her mind raced and her heart ached with every beat. She looked at the man she had known for years, the man she admired and loved, and she sighed. "Sebastian, look at me."

His head turned, his face twisted with heartache and his eyes searching. She reached out and put her hand on his arm, hope burning in her gaze. "I know I've hurt you, lied to you, but if you could only hear me out, let me explain my reasons for what I've done, then maybe you'd understand better. I'm not saying you have to forgive me. Just listen. Allow me the chance to tell you the truth. I need to say it as much as you need to hear it."

He let go a hollow laugh then, his jaw clenching around his words. "I have no interest in the sordid details of your affairs. If you need to make a confession, I suggest Brother Gerard."

His derision hit her hard. Mustering what little patience she had left, Finola took a deep breath. "Please, Sebastian, don't treat me like a criminal. I've loved you for so long, I can't remember a time when I didn't."

"Except for that week with him. Tell me, would you change that too? Can you honestly tell me you regret what happened with him?"

"You were gone… off to Wildervale to seek aid!" She could feel her throat tightening and paused to regain her composure. "I was lonely. I missed you, more than I thought I ever would. But I was drunk and reckless…."

"I don't care what your lame excuses are. What I want to know is if you had the chance to do it over again, would you still go to him?"

"I _do_ regret how much I've hurt you, more than I can say. I never meant to see him more than that one night, I just-"

"You're not answering my question!" Sebastian's jaw was tight, rage boiling and spilling over into his voice. "Would you still go to him? Answer me honestly for once!"

"Yes! All right, yes! I would damn it!"

The color in his face drained away. "You never loved me, did you?" he whispered, a sad understanding in his voice.

The silence was long, agonizing, and her lips twisted in careful thought. "I _do_ love you. If you give me another chance," she whispered urgently, "I'll prove it to you. Just… _please_ …."

"After everything you've done to me, the countless times you've lied to me, I still can't hate you, not for a second. But even so, I'm not sure you deserve another chance, not with me anyway."

"I haven't done _anything_ you hadn't already done in the past! Or have you conveniently forgotten what a womanizing rake you once were!"

"I don't want to fight with you, Finola. And I will _not_ trade insults either."

"Of course not! Maker forbid we _show_ our emotions instead of _repress_ them for years! You're not so innocent in all this," she spat. "You led me on, toyed with _my_ feelings!"

"Maybe, but if I did, it was not _deliberate_."

"Don't act naïve! I murdered for you, Sebastian, I murdered in cold blood, and that's not worse than sleeping with Bran? Your priorities are backwards! Why don't you just come out and say it, you coward. Tell me I deserve to rot in the depths of the Void!" Her body shook, wracked with suppressed sobs, but she was now consumed with anger bordering on hysteria. "Tell me I'm a sinner, a whore, a traitor! If it will make you feel any better, just say it, damn you!"

Sebastian blinked back his own tears, feeling her words more keenly than any blow he was ever dealt, yet his voice remained infuriatingly even. "You say you love me, but I don't think you really know what love is, Finola." He turned and walked away with slow and deliberate strides.

Still, she forced back her tears, shaking her head in a jumble of feelings: disgust, guilt, and raging fury all fighting for domination. She leapt from her bed and reached the door as he stepped over the threshold, but Sebastian didn't say a word and continued to pace toward the stairs.

"You're a horse's ass, Sebastian Vael, and I hate you! You will regret this for the rest of your life!" she screamed from the doorway, bellowing over the mabari's protective howls.

In a flurry of activity, she watched Sebastian descend the staircase just as Bodahn was running up. Bran appeared behind Bodahn and stopped to stare at Sebastian, half expecting an altercation. Sebastian merely muttered something to Bran and without stopping, disappeared from Finola's sights. Dropping her chin to her chest, she didn't see the pleased grin on Bran's face.

Bodahn approached Finola, out of breath and harried. "I'm sorry, messere, but he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"It's all right, Bodahn. Go on downstairs. I'll be fine."

Finola waved Bran in to her room and then walked to her bed. As Bran closed the door, Finola sat down, cradling her head in her hands. "What a bloody mess I've made of my life." She expected Bran to make a snide comment, and when he didn't, she raised her head only to see him gazing at her with obvious relief on his face, but he was still unresponsive. "Bran? Are you all right?" Finola motioned to a spot on the bed next to her. "Come here and let me take a closer look at that lump. Maker, it's big."

He walked toward her, never taking his eyes off her face. "Yes, it _is_ big," he said finally. He stared at her, his eyes scanning over her face and body, searching for evidence of injury, repressing the sting of his own tears. "I couldn't wait anymore, Finola. I've been very worried about you. You look well enough, but… are you really?"

"Physically, I'm fine. Mentally, not so much."

"I heard your conversation with Vael. Well, I heard the name-calling bit."

"Ah, yes. Pleasant, wasn't it? When he passed you, what did he say?"

"He said 'she'll never change'. But forget Vael and tell me what happened. If you want to, that is. I'll understand if you can't discuss it."

"No you won't. How about I give you the short version?" He nodded with pursed lips and furrowed brows. "So, the mage put me to sleep and I woke up in a warehouse. Damon tried to take advantage of me, but Sebastian shot an arrow through his neck and killed him. Isabela and Fenris were there too, and they brought me home. And, here I am." She laughed at her condensed account, a chuckle that held more sorrow than mirth.

"Maker's breath, Fin. That's not even the slightest bit funny." A sudden urge to hold her and never let go washed over him, but he held it back, wanting to learn all the details, no matter how horrifying. "You say he _tried_ to take advantage?"

She nodded. "A few more minutes, and he might have…." A shiver jerked her whole body and she picked at the coverlet on her bed. "He drugged me and I couldn't move… he groped a bit… he couldn't get my underclothes off, by the Maker's grace no doubt, and then the door flew open. Honestly, the blows to my face bothered me the most."

Balling up his fists, Bran had never wanted to punch someone as much as he did then. Visions of the things he _should_ have done to Damon raced through his mind, wild and graphic in their violence. His jaws clenched together. "He didn't rape you then. Thank the Maker."

She shook her head. "Blunt as always, huh?"

"You know me. I don't like to mince words. If you can't be direct, then you should keep your mouth shut." Uncomfortable in his anger, Bran's breathing began to strain as he opened his mouth to ask another question, but Finola spoke up first.

"I heard when you woke up in Merrill's house, you were quite appalled," she tried to joke, but her words came out flat.

"Don't change the subject. Tell me truthfully, are you in any pain?" His fingertip grazed the bruise on her cheek. "I can only imagine how that welt on your cheek looked before the healer got to it."

"I'm just very tired, but I'm in no pain at all, I promise." Before she could add more, he gathered her into his arms and buried his face in the soft hair falling over her collarbone, embracing her with the gentlest of hugs. She felt his slight shudder, heard his quiet sob, and she knew he felt immense guilt. "Oh Bran, I'm fine, really. There is no reason to feel responsible." She placed a hand on his shoulder, a small gesture of comfort, but it didn't sooth his remorse.

All he wanted to do was kiss her. It was selfish, he realized, but he wanted to do it anyway, and in a heartbeat, his lips moved to hers. He kissed her as if the world was about to end, a kiss that was long and deep and passionate, and she returned the kiss with enthusiasm, in desperate need of intimacy.

Catching his breath, Bran apologized. "I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. But the thought of you hurt or never seeing you again…."

When he moved back, she realized she didn't want to see that wretched look on his face a second time, and for that reason alone, she hugged him to her with a breathy whisper in his ear. "Don't be sorry. That kiss was very sweet."

He sat back and put his face in his hands, the strain of his emotions giving way to a few tears. "I have no fighting skills, certainly none that would have aided you, but I tried to free myself, tried to help…."

Once again, her arms wrapped around him in a brief embrace that felt peaceful and nurturing. "I know you tried. If anything, it was my fault for dragging you along with me."

"No, no. You couldn't have known anything like that would happen." Her hands brushed up and down his arms gently, and he regained some control over himself. "Did you discover why they were after you?"

"Well," she began, knowing full well how _this_ was going to go over, "they were actually after Sebastian. They used me to lure him in."

"Maker damn him! Vael and his political aspirations are the reasons for this? I could just-"

"Don't say it. It's not his fault either. He had no idea anyone would try to kill him, let alone me."

"You should leave Kirkwall, go somewhere like Orlais, but definitely not Ferelden. I'll take you there myself." His voice was suddenly panicked and insistent.

"Are you crazy? What makes you think I want to leave? If someone wants me dead, I'd rather face them sooner rather than later when I'm soft and I least expect it."

"Finola. You _must_ leave."

"I've never run away from a little danger and not I'm not about to start now, so you'd better get used to the idea."

"I'm afraid for you. You're _asking_ for trouble."

"Stop it, right this instant, Bran. I know why you're saying this, but I will not leave. End of discussion."

He threw up his hands, unable to prevent an admiring smile from spreading across his face. "Why do I bother trying to talk sense into you? You are such a stubborn and exasperating woman!"

"And that's why-" She stopped herself with instant regret, but he finished for her.

"I love you." His expression softened, proud of his words and the feelings behind them. "Will you allow me to praise your virtues further?"

"Don't say anymore, Bran." She pressed a finger to his lips. "I'm afraid I can only bring you heartache, can't you see that?"

"No, I can't. You've brought more happiness to my life than any woman I've ever known, even… even Calista."

Calista. She was his first wife who died during the birth of their son, a beautiful Rivaini with a lust for life like no other woman he'd known. Bran had worshipped her, and mourned her loss for months on end. Finola hadn't heard her name since she first met Bran those many years ago.

"You would compare me to her? Oh Bran, I'm not… we're not… you can't really mean that. I remember how you spoke of her. She was everything you had ever dreamed of and wanted. Surely, I'm not _half_ the woman she was to you."

"If you are trying to convince me you're not worthy, it won't work. It's too late for your feeble attempts to brush me aside, Fin. While it's true that I did love Calista with my whole heart and soul, you and she are _nothing_ alike, and thus, cannot be compared."

"What's the matter with you? You're acting the opposite of everything that makes you the arrogant and cynical seneschal everyone hates!"

"I'm still the same bastard everyone hates, but with you, I can also be a simple man in love."

She jumped from the bed, her arms flailing about. "You're acting foolish and impulsive, like some kind of love-struck adolescent," she said in a sudden callous tone. "I can't make you any promises for a future together. I can't love you the way you want me to love you! You should just leave now. I-I need to rest." She turned her head away from him, unbidden tears rushing down her cheek.

"I know what you need, and it isn't rest," he said, desire rising from the ashes of his earlier anguish. He moved toward her, his hands grabbing her by the shoulders, and he pushed, causing her to fall backward onto the bed. Throwing one of his legs over hers, he held her wrists, and she drew in a sharp breath, but there was no fear in her gaze as she stared at him. For a moment, he questioned his actions, but then he saw the look in her eyes, the hunger, the unspoken plea for closeness that he'd seen in the past. He loosened his grip and admired the flush creeping up from her heaving breasts.

And then she felt his hot breath on her cheek as he spoke. "I know you want me, but if you tell me to stop, I shall. Tell me you never want to see me again and I will disappear from Kirkwall forever. Tell me, Finola, tell me you are done with me, with us."

 _Live in the moment, Finola._ For a few seconds, she stared into Bran's eyes, floundering in indecision, but in her heart, in that moment, she knew _exactly_ who she wanted and why. "Don't stop, and don't leave." She leaned in and closed the short distance that separated them, sliding her mouth against his, relishing the feel of his warm, smooth lips.

Bran wasn't sure he had done the right thing by pushing her for an answer, but when he felt her press against him even harder, he became certain, and that certainty unleashed a new wave of passion in him. She wanted him and he reacted, kissing her with a blazing eagerness, his mouth firm and his tongue merciless. Reckless in her actions, he drank in her fast and desperate kisses, and he was all but intoxicated in his rapture.

There was no stopping now.

She felt his tongue swirling in her mouth, battling her own as her fingers tangled in his hair. He moaned, all rational thoughts gone from his mind, as he felt her respond to the urgent thrusts of his hips with equal intensity. His kisses became more and more demanding, and when she thought that her mouth couldn't take any more of the hot assault, he began to kiss his way down her neck, sucking and biting her tender flesh.

He eagerly pushed the long nightgown up past her waist, no underclothes to restrict his pressing into her, and he was thrilled knowing he was going to be the one fulfilling her needs.

She seized his shirt, tearing it open, buttons flying in all directions, and she fought to wrestle it from his body. Once divested of the shirt, her fingers caressed every inch of his firm chest, the hard planes of his shoulders, and the nape of his neck, sending him into a state of near incoherent bliss.

He was in love. And he felt loved, wanting to bury himself inside her, to find his release in her, to find his _home_ in her.

They pulled back for air, and she purred as he took a nipple into his mouth, teasing and nipping while his fingers crept toward her thighs, and then she begged. "Bran, _please… more….._ " He traced a finger up and along her inner thigh until he reached his objective.

As he pushed in a finger, she clutched his shoulders and crushed her head back into the pillow, but he pulled it out teasingly, leaving her eager for more. "Patience, my dear. You're so wet and so tight. You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?"

"Yes," she blurted, and then nothing more than a gurgling moan came out of her.

"And what exactly do you wish of me, Finola?" Bran held her gaze, but she remained silent. "Say it," he growled, his thumb circling as another finger entered her roughly.

"I want _you_ … inside me."

"And when you cry out, it will be _my_ name on your lips," he whispered, his eyes transfixed on hers.

"Yes, _Bran._ " She couldn't stop herself from moaning his name as she felt one of his hands slide up under her nightgown, his hand cupping her breast, gasping as he pinched at her nipple.

He groaned as he kissed her, ravishing her mouth and plundering deeply, and her breath caught in her throat.

Impatience drove her to push him off long enough for her to grasp the edges of her nightgown, and in one smooth move, pulled it up and over her head. She loosened the drawstring of his breeches as her lips placed sweet kisses across his muscular upper body, and then she rocked into his side and hauled herself up to lay across him, breathless. "This is…."

"Meant to be." The touch of her bare breasts against his chest sent a delightful shiver through him. Compelled to ravish her, he then fumbled with his breeches, pushing them down and toeing them off the bed. His eyes locked onto hers, both pairs feral and yearning, and he captured her lips in a fiery kiss, intensified by the sensation of her naked body sinking against his.

Desire clouded her mind and she welcomed the passion because it meant forgetting everything, and everyone. All that mattered was the lean, taut body under her and she was thirsty for more pleasure. Shifting, she reached down and touched him, curling her fingers around his rigid length. Guided by his desperate breaths, her fingers closed tighter around him seconds before releasing him. "I want you… _now_."

His hands grabbed the firm globes of her backside and he lifted her. She adjusted and moved to take him into her body, into the slick flesh between her thighs. Bran struggled to breathe as she sunk lower and then leaned forward to brush her lips against his. "Let go, Bran."

He relinquished control and with muscles flexing, he thrust upward as she sank down.

She tightened as he filled her, taking more of him with each slide down. With half-lidded eyes, she touched her forehead to his and whispered. "Let me pleasure you, Bran…."

The truth dawned on him then. She _was_ loving him, pleasuring him, and lavishing the most intimate of touches upon him, and it was paradise. Buried inside her as she embraced him boldly, he knew he couldn't last much longer. Her pace quickened and he locked his hands on her hips, desperate to prolong their union, and she gasped and writhed, rolling her hips against him, and dipping to his mouth for stolen kisses.

Bran released her hip and slid his fingers between their bodies, past her damp curls. One stroke was all it took, and she shattered, her senses exploding with a cry, "Bran!" as she went over the edge of the precipice. He followed a heartbeat later with her name rough on his lips.

They were locked together, both too spent and contented to part. As the minutes passed, they clung to one another, their heartbeats slowing and bodies cooling. Eventually, Bran turned his head, brushing his lips against her ear. "Have you changed your mind?"

She was confused at first, then she understood. "Maybe I have."

He nuzzled into her with a contented sigh. "I'll take that as a yes."


	8. Someone Has To Do It

Sebastian idly cleaned his bow, polishing a shine to match his armor as he sat in Fenris' guest room, the only chamber other than Fenris' that had been spruced up in any manner. Isabela had withheld certain favors until Fenris cleaned both rooms to her liking, and Fenris had acquiesced, unable to carry on long without Isabela's unique style of comfort.

"Maybe she's right," Sebastian sighed.

"Who and what are you speaking of?" Fenris asked, tearing a hunk of bread from the loaf.

"I let it happen, buried my head in the sand while Finola waited."

Fenris finished off the last of his bread and placed his empty wine glass firmly on the table. "And so? What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know, Fenris. I still feel so betrayed, so... disgusted."

"If you do nothing but harbor anger and hold a grudge, Finola will slip through your fingers. She and Bran grow closer every day while you sit here with your tail between your legs, moping."

To think of her with another man made Sebastian's heart race almost as quickly as it had when she was in his arms the previous week. "I'm just apprehensive, Fenris."

Making steady eye contact, Fenris scowled. "Why aren't you fighting for her, Sebastian? Why are you letting Bran have what is rightfully yours?"

"If she wanted me, she wouldn't have slept with him. You've never heard the proverb, 'what soberness conceals, drunkenness reveals'?"

"This again," he muttered. "You think that was her plan? She is baiting you now, yes. But, what happened with him was simply a moment of weakness. Of course _you_ are far too strong-willed to understand what that feels like."

Sebastian chose not to respond to Fenris' baiting comment. "I am not going to grovel, Fenris. Never."

"Allow me to be frank, Sebastian. I suggest you have a private conversation with her, clear the air, and then you will see where her loyalty lies. If you're convinced she loves you, and you still want her, then _take_ her back. You must be aggressive, the way Bran has been. She prefers a man with an assertive side, a firm and authoritative air and demeanor, not some indecisive chantry brother. You are no longer that man. Events have changed you, _she_ has changed you. When you remove your cousin from power, the people will be looking for stability. That stability must begin with their prince, who, may I remind you, is still betrothed to the viscountess for all practical purposes. Make no mistake though. She is well aware of what an alliance between you and she would mean for herself as well as Kirkwall, and she is nothing if not ambitious."

"You have a clever mind, Fenris. I'll give you that. But I don't operate that way."

"You had better learn to. Do you think you can take back and rule Starkhaven with nothing but holy righteousness? I'll concede that you have knowledge of warfare and you certainly wouldn't look weak. But a ruler cannot _be_ so virtuous, only _seem_ to be virtuous. You need to develop your skills in the art of deception if you plan to succeed in the game of politics. Only the shrewdest and most crafty individuals can survive in governing."

"It seems I need you at my side to do so. I have a question for you, Fenris," Sebastian leaned forward and cocked his head. "If all goes according to my plans, would you consider acting as my advisor in Starkhaven? You can help train my army. Perhaps a title to go with it all?"

"Of course I'll help you, but I have no need of titles. First things first, however. You must talk to her, Sebastian. She possesses some of the skills you lack, and she would be a great asset to Starkhaven and its rightful prince. Once this is settled with Hawke, no matter the ending, we can move forward with your plans."

Sebastian nodded. "Maker help me."

"Help yourself, Sebastian." Fenris stood up and slapped him on the shoulder. "Isabela is waiting for us to escort her to the bazaar. And who knows? Maybe Hawke will be there too."

* * *

In the days after Sebastian left her house, Finola stayed away from the Hanged Man, the Chantry site, anywhere that she might run into her companions. She worked at the Keep all day, returning after dark with Bran at her side. Bodahn would mention that Varric or Isabela had dropped by and left a note, but she didn't respond to them. And even though Aveline's office was not far from Finola's, Aveline kept her distance too, waiting for Finola to seek her out first.

Bran had stayed with her every night, only leaving for his house to collect some clothes and personal sundries. Before every dawn, her gentle snoring would warm him inside and out as he lay unabashedly naked, the lingering scent from the previous night's activities still in the air. As the sun rose, he would wake her with tender kisses as he wrapped her in his arms, and her face would relax with a blissful smile on her lips. She would rub her sleepiness away, and then crack one eye open, staring at him before placing a lingering kiss on his cheek. Smiling lazily, her eyes would close as he leaned in to nuzzle and rub his chin against the delicate skin of her chest and neck, and she'd purr, announcing just how much she liked his ever present stubble. He knew he would see the reddish marks it left on her later, and resting his head on his palm, he'd look down at his lover, and smile at the thought. Every little quirk, every glance and touch offered him serenity he never knew was possible.

Today had been no different.

After a quick breakfast together, they headed to her office for a full day of meetings and record sorting.

Neat, organized piles of key documents lay on Finola's desk: financial policies, current and past laws, bills of lading, monthly reports, and various announcements. Several days of hard work on her part, as well as Bran's, had yielded much order from the chaos that was the former viscount's office.

Finola thumbed through the paperwork in her office, skimming over the requests for funding to assist in the rebuilding of Kirkwall. With every flick of her wrist came a few nods, followed by a perky "maybe" or an firm "never", and sometimes she laughed, saying, "Are they insane?" until Bran could take no more.

"Now see here, Fin, when I said we should get to work, I didn't mean we had to toil from sunup to sundown. I'm starved, and you must be too. Let's go to the bazaar for some food and entertainment."

"Well, isn't this interesting? You drag me here, after you guilted me into doing my job sooner, and now you're ready to run off and dance in the streets?"

"I have a duty to submit recommendations to you, _Your Excellency_. So yes, I think we should finish up work for the day." Coming around the table to sit next to her, his eyes narrowed with a distinct activity in mind. "I also advise we don't _run_ anywhere just yet."

"I know that look, Bran. We're in my _office_ , for Maker's sake. There are templars just outside the door."

" _I_ can be quiet. You?" he challenged. "Can you keep silent while I run my hands up between your legs, slipping them under your skirt to rid you of these useless underclothes?" His fingers crept past her skirting, stroking the sensitive flesh of her thighs.

The jolt that shot through her made her whimper at his touch, and she squirmed, slouching down to spread her thighs just enough to let him reach in further. "You are a horrible distraction. I'm not sure if working with you is irresponsible or brilliant."

"Brilliant, I'd say. If I ask you to sit on my lap like a good girl, will you do so without argument?"

"That depends." She raised an eyebrow, an enticing smile beckoning him. "What's my incentive?"

His hand dove into her smalls feeling her slight wetness, and he grinned knowing he was the reason for her arousal. He yanked hard enough to rip them off, and then tossed them aside. "Is that motivation enough?" She shook her head, her lips in a full pout. His nimble fingers pushed in, feeling her slicken with every thumb stroke. " _This_ ," he said while examining his fingers, "tells me you're lying."

Quickly, he stood and locked the door, dropping his breeches to pool at his feet before pushing them aside. He slid both hands under her bottom and pulled her onto the plush, armless chair with him, pressing against her, letting her feel his hardened length. He felt her fingers in his hair, heard his name falling from her lips as she not so gracefully attempted to pull herself closer.

She gasped and moved her hips, groaning against him as his fingers reached between them and plundered before moving his hand back to thread through her hair. His stiffness grew more as it pressed against her flesh, and she moaned. "You're so… _hard_."

"…entirely your fault," he whispered breathlessly.

Finola chuckled and he grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling her head back sharply. "No laughing," he ordered, his eyes narrowed and growing darker.

"Then quit joking."

" _Stop_ talking unless I tell you to speak. Understood?" She nodded once. "Now, my wanton puppet, whisper my name," he commanded as he rubbed her, feeling her dampen more with every caress. He slowed his fingers at her silence and let her arousal ebb away slightly. "You need only say my name and I shall continue. Otherwise..."

"Bran," she whispered. She closed her eyes, a lingering memory drifting through her mind.

"I knew you would be obedient when pushed."

His fingers tweaked and pinched her swollen bud, and her response was a breathy, almost delirious moan of pleasure. "Sure you're not… _ungh_ … a desire demon?" She sucked in a sharp breath, her back arching against his ministrations, but he stopped suddenly and she frowned, her eyes still closed. "What... What are you doing…?"

He planted kisses along her jaw, moving to whisper in her ear. "I want to make you come, my beautiful viscountess, but teasing you is so much fun."

She moaned, digging her nails into his back hard enough that he felt it through his shirt. " _Please_..."

"First, tell me how this feels."

"Good," she said barely above a whisper.

"Good? Surely you can be more expressive than that."

" _Really_ good." His amused smile was spontaneous and he increased his pace. She began to tremble against him, holding onto his shoulders as she shuddered and clenched around his fingers. "Please… just… _just_ …."

"So close already?" He pulled her flush against him, his erection hard and hot against her body, as her legs draped around his hips. He stroked her hair and pressed kisses to her neck, mumbling incoherent words of worship, but she understood.

She turned to him with closed eyes when he gave her a moment to respond. "I want you," she murmured, and pushed her hips toward him. She moved her head forward and pressed her lips against his ear. "I want you to fuck me… _do it_ ," she rasped, her tongue swirling around and teeth nipping gently.

He moved his hands to her backside and pulled her closer, sliding inside her tightness until he filled her completely. Her eyes flew open and she gasped against him and moved her hands to his shoulders again, clutching him for balance as she began to ride him slowly.

" _Yes._ " She arched her back slightly as she shut her eyes, flashes of white invading her mind.

His lips and tongue plundered her mouth, insinuating himself in every move, every touch. "Look at me," he growled impatiently.

She needed release, and desperately tried to keep her mind there, in that room with him, not wanting to let it drift to another place.

"Open your eyes." It was an order, not a request, and she dipped her head down to meet his, her lust-filled gaze locking with his own, but the slight distance in her stare did not go unnoticed. "Look at _me_ , Fin. And stay quiet. Every time I hear a sound from you, I _will_ stop, and you will never find release, my dear."

"You want it as much as I do."

"But I can wait. _I_ have unwavering self-control." His slow rhythm continued, and she closed her eyes again, matching his thrusts, her hips moving up and down on his lap, determined to prove she had perseverance as well.

Her hands caressed him, and her mouth was hungry, biting against his shoulders to muffle her moans. Bran smiled to himself as he heard the purring sounds she was making, and with each plunge into her, he watched her face twist with pleasure, drinking in her ragged breathing and flushed cheeks.

"… _Mine_ … as I am _yours_ ," his voice choked as he pulled her down, burying himself deeper and erupting within her. He sealed her lips with an intense kiss, swallowing her soft moans.

She shuddered with release, her mind fading to a passionate moment not so long ago. _If only..._.

Bran held himself still, panting as he came back to his senses. Then he pulled out of her, stood up, and laid a cloth on the table for her. He couldn't help feeling contented as he gazed at her satisfied smile, her eyes still closed as she savored the boneless relaxation.

"… your hands, so get a move on." He looked over at her as she fumbled with her skirt, oblivious to his comment. "Finola, have you heard a word I've said?"

His voice crashed into her thoughts and she started. "Oh, I… um… well yes, they sound like good plans."

"Plans? I said _hands._ To be specific, the seers look at the palms of your hands. What has you so distracted?" He straightened his clothes and strode over to her, taking her hands in his. A frown crept to his lips, her faraway stare betraying her thoughts. How many times he had seen that look before, he couldn't count anymore.

She blinked away the unshed tears and stared into his dejected gaze. "It's nothing."

Summoning what courage he could, he sat beside her again, steeling himself against the pessimistic assumptions he had already made. "I know you quite well, my dear. Please, don't shut me out. You _can_ tell me what has you suddenly serious, although I believe I already know."

A pang of guilt welled up, twisting her stomach in knots. "You're asking me to knowingly hurt you, and I won't do that."

Bran waved his hand dismissively. "I shall be the judge of what does and does not offend me. I know you feel… _something_ for me. Whether it's of love or lust, _I_ can't say, but neither will I force you to return any sentiment you are not comfortable sharing with me. As I've said before, I'm a very patient man."

Her lips twitched with a slight frown. "Bran, I'm no good for you. I can't promise my heart to you, and you deserve better. You should listen to me for once and just forget about me." Ashamed, she turned her face away but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"I beg to differ, Fin." After wiping the tears from her cheek, he dropped a light kiss on her forehead and tightened his grip on her, his eyes soft, the pain hidden.

Her piercing eyes were sad, a gaze that now held more sympathy than fondness. "Leave me, before it's too late."

The hesitant look on her face shattered another little bit of his heart, but he swept her up in his arms anyway, to make her forget, to make himself forget. He would not, _could_ not allow certain unpleasant truths to take root and lead to action on his part, or hers. "You _are_ good for me, as I am good for you. One day soon, you will realize that."

"Your confidence is inspiring, but…." Her voice cracked and a few more tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Shh, no more tears. Let's postpone this asinine discussion for now. Just know that you can trust me to be your confidante if you'd like to continue tonight. After all, isn't that what women want their lovers to be, somebody they trust to discuss personal matters and problems?"

Smiling appreciatively, she ruffled Bran's tousled hair with her fingers hoping to distract him. "I promise I'll take your request under advisement, _Seneschal Bran_." He smoothed a hand over his unruly cowlicks just as a loud rumble came from her stomach. "I guess I am hungry," she laughed. "Okay, tell me again what these fortune tellers do."

The scent of rosewater floated by his nose, _her_ scent, and it calmed the troubling thoughts at war in his mind, making it easier to push them away. With her hands still in his, he turned one over, and traced a finger across the upper flesh of her palm. "They read the lines of your palm. This line here is the line of your heart." His feather light touch tickled, and he grinned at her slight giggle.

"How do you know about this anyway?"

"Rivaini gypsies. No doubt some of the same ones who are in the bazaar today."

"Should I even ask what you've done with these gypsies?"

He laughed. "Nothing as distasteful as you might think. Calista was quite friendly with the many refugees who flooded into Kirkwall during the Blight. After her passing, they helped me with my son, Lucan."

"Oh." Finola cleared her throat. "He's a knight serving Lord Walter of Castle Longford in Markham, is he not?" Bran nodded with a sad smile. "You miss him."

"He's a true gentleman, so like his mother. The gypsies taught him much about their ways, a little too much, I think. Ah, but he's a fun one to have at social gatherings. It's been two years since he's come home to visit."

"Why don't you go there? If you want an escort, I'd be more than happy to tag along."

"We'll see what autumn brings first. Maybe, come Harvestmere." He smiled at her gesture, and kissed the back of her hand. "Thank you for the offer."

She nodded and held out her palm to him. "So, what does my heart line say?"

Brows drawing together slightly, he stared at the floor, considering several options before speaking. He traced his finger along the line. "This indicates you will marry a handsome, copper-haired man and give him many sons."

"Oh, bullshit. I don't believe a thing you're telling me." Despite her skepticism, Finola was beginning to enjoy his little game. "What's that one?" she asked, pointing to another curvy line.

"Your health line." Bran smiled, amused by her childlike enthusiasm. "It describes your features and overall wellbeing."

"Go on then. Tell me how beautiful I am."

"Let's see," he purred, lifting his eyes to see Finola's playful expression as she stared at her own palm. "If I remember correctly, this is a sign that you are quite fit, fair and blue-eyed, a true beauty, and somewhat… fleshy."

She made a face and planted her hands on her hips. "Fleshy? You're a jackass, Bran."

Her hand came up to slap him playfully, but he snapped his fingers around her wrist and angled his head to press his forehead against hers. "Ah, but I'm _your_ jackass, my sweet wild cherry." His lips crashed upon hers once more, emboldened by her endearing little snit. She stiffened only for a moment before melting into the kiss, working her lips against his, and mewling softly.

A rough but satisfied chuckle bubbled up from his throat, and he raked a hand through his hair, repressing a renewed desire for her. "All right then. Do you have interest in knowing your future now?"

"I prefer to take each day as it comes, thank you very much."

"It's not just about foretelling the future. Studying the palm of one's hand is also used to evaluate a person's character."

"And I already know what causes me to do the things I do."

"Stubborn, stubborn woman." He led her to the door and unlocked it. "You're coming with me, like it or not."

"I will, but you're going to owe me after this."

He feigned a yawn and leaned over to murmur in her ear. "I will be more than happy to suffer through any revenge you might offer." He slapped her backside and she jumped out the door with a giggle.

Twenty minutes later, Finola and Bran strolled arm in arm past the merchant carts of the Hightown bazaar. Fortunetellers and dealers proffering games of chance lined the walls of the marketplace on this evening celebrating the first day of Kingsway. A gathering of four wealthy Hightown widows caught Finola's eye just as they were looking at her and Bran. Finola heard them mention her title, and noticing their duplicitous smiles, she knew they were gossiping about her. Clearing her mind of the market din, she focused and listened to the women's banter.

"… I hear Sebastian Vael is leaving soon… serves her right, that fine man made to look like such a fool…."

 _That can't be true…_

"The seneschal certainly looks pleased with himself… She's nothing like his first wife… acting more the harlot than the viscountess."

 _Bitches_.

Bran curved his arm around her shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze. "Ignore those harpies, Fin. They're wrong."

"Are they?" A sudden dread ripped through her. "Maybe this is a bad idea."

Bran surveyed the crowd, and a blinding reflection of sunlight shined back into his eyes. When the glare dissipated, he saw Sebastian staring at them from across the courtyard. Unaware of Sebastian's proximity, Finola had spotted an exceptional pair of leather boots and she stopped at the merchant's booth to admire them.

Bran came up behind her, silently eying Sebastian. "You can't change your mind now. Where's your sense of adventure, Fin?"

"I left it back in our bedroom," she offered without thinking.

Bran nuzzled into her ear and whispered. " _Our_ bedroom, you say?" He grinned, noticing Sebastian shift his weight, agitated as he moved from one leg to the other, his heated gaze still upon them. "I do like the sound of that."

Finola laughed as she held up the boots for inspection. "A slip of the tongue."

Bran moved to her side and took her face in his hands, a feral gleam in his eyes. "Slip your tongue right in here," he demanded before his hot assault on her lips.

"Bran! We are in public," she hissed through clenched teeth and shook her head. "Have some control. Let's go to the bloody gypsies and get this over with already."

In a roundabout fashion, Bran led her to a corner booth shrouded in dark red velvet. As they approached, the old gypsy quirked a corner of her wrinkled mouth. Bran nodded to her and then eyed Finola. "Violca, it's been a long time. My friend here has need of your foretelling services."

Violca tipped her head and waved Finola closer. "You wish to know your destiny?"

"No, but he does." Finola pointed a finger at Bran, and then poked him in the chest, noticing as the gypsy gave Bran a perceptive smirk.

"Twenty silvers." Violca stared at Finola, her eyes darting as she examined her face. "Follow me." Violca led them through a small opening in the draped velvet into a private area. "Show me your hands, young lady."

"Young lady?" With narrowed brows, Finola held out her hand. "Well, I guess compared to you…."

The strength of the woman's hand was impressive as she gripped Finola, and as she did so, Finola felt a foreboding energy tingle her senses, almost as if some kind of raw power was being transferred from Violca to herself. A twinge of fear surged through her, and she pulled her hands back to her sides.

"The left hand is what the Maker gives you. The right is what you do with it. Which hand do you want me to read?"

She shot a slightly defiant stare at Bran as she offered her hand. "How about… my right."

"So much for not wanting to know your future," Bran quipped.

"Shut up."

A quick elbow to his ribs caught Bran by surprise and he laughed. "You'll pay for that later."

Violca pulled Finola's hand up to her face, squinting as she studied the lines. "Ah, such pink skin holds much fire. An impulsive woman, sometimes insensitive and foolish."

"I didn't realize I was paying you to insult me."

"The truth can often be disconcerting. You do things boldly, guided by your emotions. You feel your choices in your bones, yes?"

"Maybe." Finola shrugged.

"This is your heart line, your passions. Such strong desires in you, but you are selfish with love. Sometimes you express your feelings in haste. Your line of destiny indicates your life has been strongly controlled by fate and prone to many changes from external forces. Your heart has suffered much; you have lost many loved ones. These branches show heartbreak, a man left your side and this has saddened you greatly."

Her glare held true anger. "That's enough!" Finola tried to pull her hands from the old woman's grasp, but Violca's vice-like grip only grew stronger. The gypsy's eyes narrowed and she pinned Finola with her dark gaze.

"There is only one more thing I must say. This line here inclines, an interruption of relations, or perhaps the ill health of a lover. Alliances will be tested, some ending amid turmoil and fighting. You must choose wisely, girl, or else tragedy will strike those you love."

The gypsy released her hands and Finola gasped and turned to run away, not realizing where her steps were leading. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with a few tears and she swiped at them with her hand. She leaned against a wall and stilled the shaking of her hands, not understanding what, exactly, had just happened.

Bran dropped the coins into Violca's waiting, open palm and nodded. "Take care, Violca." When he finally caught up to Finola, she huffed sigh and rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Bran. That was _so_ uplifting."

He looked at her, brushing a few damp strands of hair off her face. "Come now, you're not that irrational, are you?" Surprised by her reaction, he paused and took a deep breath. "Superstition is not a notion I thought you, of all people, would possess."

"But I felt _something_ , I don't know what… like a wave of doom come over me, and-"

"Hawke! Where have you been?" Merrill ran to Finola and embraced her with all her might, giggling softly.

Finola blew out a heavy breath, but smiled cheerfully at her friend. "Such a warm greeting, Merrill." Finola lifted her gaze and her smile faded as she saw Sebastian standing behind Fenris and Isabela, his arms folded over his chest, looking grim.

Finola squared her shoulders, looking Sebastian straight in the eye. "Enjoying the bazaar, Sebastian? I'm surprised to see you here, what with all the immoral activities going on. Surely it's no place for a man of religion."

"I am accompanying my friends for their safety, and _not_ indulging in this maleficium."

Bran stood at Finola's side, never taking his eyes off Sebastian, but Sebastian didn't afford one glance at him, keeping his gaze upon Finola. Still, Bran stared at him, but the blood boiling in his ears prevented him from hearing any more of their conversation. He studied Sebastian, noting how different the archer was from himself. Vael was all brawn, full of valor, and as handsome as any man he'd ever seen. Not to mention he was likely to be the Prince of Starkhaven soon. Bran felt his heart clench.

What troubled Sebastian most was his own reaction to seeing her with Bran. In the past, they could never go anywhere in the city without encountering someone interested in her, and he could hardly blame them; Finola was very attractive, her personality a magnet for the attentions of potential suitors. But it had never bothered him until now, knowing that Bran held her affection, or whatever emotion was behind her dalliance with him. And he _was_ jealous. Fenris had been right. _Damn him._

Sebastian stepped in front of Fenris and addressed Finola, pushing his confusing thoughts to the back of his mind, at least for the time being. "May I have a word with you, alone?"

Finola felt Bran's hand touch the small of her back, but all she could think about was the pounding of her heart as the intensity of Sebastian's gaze paralyzed her. She simply muttered a reply. "Of course." Glancing over at Bran she nodded with a quick supportive smile, but he was far from reassured. Sebastian gestured for Finola to lead the way to privacy, and her legs swiftly took her to an empty booth out of earshot. Keeping her back to Bran, she couldn't look at him, knowing he must have been stunned, and seething.

The long moment of silence was awkward, both wondering what the other was thinking, and Sebastian decided to speak up first. "I'd like to schedule a meeting with you. I understand you have already begun taking action as the viscountess and I need to know where your office stands in support of my taking Starkhaven."

"Schedule a meeting? Sebastian, I have already said I would support you. Why would you think I've changed my mind?"

"I thought perhaps _someone_ _else_ has changed your mind." A resentful spark lit his blue eyes as they fixed, boldly as ever, on her face.

She almost felt dizzy, her heart pounding quicker and harder "My decisions are just that. Mine! How can you stand here and question my sincerity?"

"Oh, that's rich! Your _sincerity_? Where has your _sincerity_ been these last few nights?"

"You walked out on me, remember?" She hesitated, biting nervously at her lower lip. "I am simply moving on."

"Then you love him? You are in love with _that_ man?"

She sighed again, swiping a hand across her forehead. "Did I say that?"

"You haven't said much of anything!"

Her face was expressionless as she reined in her irritation. "Bran is… he is my friend, a companion, same as Fenris or Isabela."

"But you haven't slept with Fenris or Isabela. Or maybe you have!" he accused.

Her fist came up instantly and landed a solid blow on his jaw. It only fazed him for a moment, and he rubbed his mouth, shifting his jaw back and forth, knowing she never would have laid a hand on him if he'd been right. "Finola, I'm sorry. That comment was completely out of line."

"Damn right it was!"

She spun on her heel to leave, but he grabbed her arm. "Wait! Why don't we leave the bazaar and have a long talk? I need to know _exactly_ what's going on with you, and you said yourself you wanted to explain. Will you come with me now?"

She searched his pleading gaze, her heart rife with indecision. "Maybe we should just meet in my office tomorrow, as you said."

"Please, Fin. We _need_ to talk, to remove any doubts between us, no matter the outcome."

She nodded, facing him with confidence. "You're right. I… um, I have to tell," she paused and turned to look for Bran, but he was gone, no sign of him anywhere her eyes darted. "Fine."

"We can talk in the courtyard behind Fenris' house. You'll be closer to your home and we won't have to wander Kirkwall in the dark."

With the exception of inconsequential small talk, they walked in silence for the entire distance. Twilight had deepened, the night falling in rich shades of crimson and orange, as Sebastian held the garden gate open for her. They walked past the unkempt flowerbeds behind Fenris' mansion, both of them settling on a large stone bench beneath a fruit-laden pear tree. Summer was waning fast, the chilly edge encroaching, the scent of late blooming flowers perfuming the night.

"So many pears. Fenris should pick these before they rot off the branches." Sebastian's voice was troubled and just slightly reluctant, but he smiled at her anyway.

"Does he even eat pears? Or any food at all? I never see him eating," she blathered. "It's a lovely night, don't you think?"

"There's a full moon," he said, his voice soft and gentle as he pointed to the moon.

She let her head fall back enough to see the star-filled sky and the pale moon, dark purple clouds slowly moving away from its light. She sighed. "It's so beautiful and serene, nothing like reality. I just wish..." She made a sweeping hand gesture. "All this upset between us. I want to feel _peaceful_ again. I don't want this distance between us anymore."

"A dream we both want. A dream that _could be_ reality…." He felt a tug at his heart when he saw she couldn't even look at him.

"Could it? Would you allow it?" The niggling doubt was still there, haunting her thoughts. _Is it me or my title that he wants?_ _Maybe both_. She turned to face him, the glow of the moon alight in his eyes. "Do you still want me, Sebastian?"

"Tell me why you lied." She dropped her chin to her chest, her eyes closing, hating the tormented look on his face. He touched her shoulder and her eyes snapped open to see Sebastian's face nearer to her own. "I need to understand why you deceived me."

Finola gave a quick shake of her head as she attempted to refocus. "I was scared. I knew you'd be angry, hurt. I had never been with a man before, and you were gone. I was beginning to think you would never want me the way I wanted you. I just needed someone to make me feel desired. Bran was there for me and I wanted to experience what it was like. I was afraid I'd disappoint you, and… I'm sorry, so sorry."

The suffering was plain on his face, but Sebastian held her gaze, his eyes tortured and lovesick. "Why did you go back to him the other night? We professed our love only the night before and _still_ , you went to him."

She could barely reply, her throat suddenly becoming dry, so much guilt gripping her heart. "It's complicated, Sebastian."

He smiled slightly, encouraging her, willing her to be comfortable, honest. He reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb lightly stoking her skin. "I don't care how long it takes, just explain why."

She saw his bold stare, a confident smirk on his full lips. That was all it took, yet nothing in his appearance warranted the chill that ran down her spine as she explained from the beginning.

"He threatened to tell you everything…."

* * *

Finola composed herself and stood before her front door, her head reeling, still struck dumb by Sebastian's final declaration. Part of her hoped Bran was in her house, pouring her a warming drink and wearing a seductive smile on his face. The other part of her was still in Fenris' courtyard, optimistic and elated. Their conversation raced though her head.

" _He threatened to tell you everything and I… I wanted to tell you myself. I was going to slip him a sleeping a draught and then tell you as soon as you came back. When he said he loved me, I just… I don't know! I couldn't stop, but all I could see was your face. I had wanted to feel loved and desired for so long. But I wanted_ you _and he was a substitute in that moment. I swear to you, Sebastian, I do love you."_

" _He tried to blackmail you? And you didn't mind?"_

" _He wouldn't have gone through with it. He just wanted... it doesn't matter now. I know I betrayed you, betrayed everything we said to each other and I lied to you, repeatedly. Can't we remain friends though? I'll still support you. I'll do whatever I can to aid you in retaking Starkhaven."_

" _Finola, I never stopped loving you. But I can't live my life constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if you're with him when I'm not nearby. Do you wish for us to be together, forever, through the good and bad? Do you truly want this with your whole heart and soul?"_

" _You mean that? You would… give me another chance?"_

" _I would consider it, yes. But you would have to end it with him, sever all ties completely. I don't trust him. And I will not stand for any other indiscretions on your part, not one. You would have to relieve the seneschal of his station, and firmly recommend he leave Kirkwall… for good, and as soon as he is able."_

" _But I need his guidance. I can't do this job alone, not yet anyway."_

" _You have several knowledgeable advisors, and you would have me. I'm sure you will find a suitable replacement eventually. Given the circumstances, I don't think I'm asking too much, do you?"_

" _No. You have every right to ask this of me. But this is… unexpected, Sebastian. I need some time. I-"_

" _I don't want you to make a rash decision. Think on it, and have an answer for me tomorrow. But before I go, I'd like to leave you with something inspiring."_

" _Such as?"_

" _A hug… No, I think a kiss is in order, don't you?"_

" _Oh yes, I agree… I absolutely agree."_

Finola sighed, reaching for the doorknob. As if on cue, the door opened and there stood Bran holding a brandy snifter for her, no trace of emotion evident on his face. "I should think you need this about now."

She stepped into the entrance hall and closed the door, placing her weapons and outer armor on the rack before retrieving the drink from his hand. "Thank you. How did you know I was standing out there?"

"You rogues always think no one else is capable of sneaky behavior."

Her eyes went to his, and she saw it then; the sadness, the anxiety, the love, all wrapped up in one miserable expression. It was clear to her then, horribly clear. "You… _eavesdropped_?"

"Imagine that? Two rogues so enraptured with each other's company that they didn't even know they were being watched, and overheard."

The palms of her hands became clammy as she walked to the couch and sat down before her knees gave out. He had heard all of her conversation with Sebastian, and had to have seen their embrace, their kiss.

Bran sat next to her, swallowing a bigger sip of his drink than usual. "What is it to be then, Finola?" Bran turned to her, waiting for her to say the words he had been dreading.

She took a deep, ragged breath. "You heard it all then," her forced, calm tone conceded. He nodded once, a slow and cautious nod. "Then you also know Sebastian wants an answer tomorrow."

Concealment was an old, familiar habit, a pretense he easily fell into. "The sex was great fun, tigress, and I'll spare you the effort of telling me to sod off while you ride into the sunset with your shiny prince. I have to say that overall, it has been a very satisfying ride, Hawke. You have served your purpose, as have I. Time for us move on."

His demeanor had changed drastically and it was disturbing. Each bitter word from his lips stabbed and twisted like a dull blade, his icy tone chilling her to her bones. He seemed composed, with stiff detachment in his posture. He was the _other_ Bran, the arrogant, impervious man everyone hated, and not the man who had been with her day and night, so sensual, so adoring and amusing, so... _perfect_.

"Please, can't we talk civilly?"

"You might as well admit it, Finola. How could you resist the prospect of becoming a true princess?" he mocked, his last words said in a high, taunting pitch. "Your prince will be at your side in all his royal glory, awaiting the good people of Starkhaven to come and kiss your feet in adoration, and then swear fealty to their new rulers. I'm sure you'll deliver a gaggle of sniveling little heirs to follow you about the castle, where servants will wait on you hand and foot, catering to your every whim, ensuring you a life a luxury for all your days. It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

His misery triggered the spiteful remarks, and she let them go, her thoughts still muddled with indecision. "I've never said I wanted such things, ever."

"But the kiss you shared with him… that embrace, they spoke volumes." Too soon, the ache became more than he could bear. He made to rise from the couch. "I'm sure you have decided already. I would have, were I you."

She grabbed his hand just as he lifted himself. "Wait. _Please_. Talk to me, Bran. Talk to me like a lover, not an adversary." The grief ran deep in her voice, helpless, desperate. In the past, he couldn't resist any request from her, but this time, the effort he had to make to stay was immeasurable. His head began to spin, and he was dimly aware of her hand gently tugging him down. He wanted nothing more than to fall into her arms, but she released his hand and directed him to sit with a firm yet compassionate nod. "You said you wanted to be my confidante. Then tell me what to do, Bran. What would you do were you me?" She wept openly now, and no more words would come.

He couldn't say that his own heart was being torn apart as well, that he would face death itself to spare her any sorrow, and he cursed himself for the tears on her cheeks… but he was powerless.

He was unable to look at her again, and like the pain surrounding him, the shadows in his mind filled with a madness that swallowed him whole. It was blacker than the night, isolating him, leaving him alone and bereft.

Nothing was the way it should be. Everything was _wrong_ …and he couldn't fix it. He wanted to flee from those beautiful, tortured eyes. But it had to be done; her future had to be secured, his duty to Kirkwall, to her, had to be fulfilled.

With his head down, Bran couldn't help reaching for her, even as it hurt, and he took her hand in his, clutching it fiercely, feeling his own tears building. "He was your first choice, and he should be your last. Go to him." He then turned his tear-stained face to her and whispered a strangled decree. "Tell him you will be his wife. And inform him I will be leaving for Markham by the week's end."


	9. Communication

" _Tell him you will be his wife. And inform him I will be leaving for Markham by the week's end."_

" _No! You don't need to leave right away, Bran. That's… a drastic step, don't you think? I'll talk to Sebastian, convince him I need you to stay on as seneschal for a while."_

" _You'll do no such thing. We can go back and forth all night, but it won't change my decision. We need only speak of business for the duration of the week."_

It was Harvestmere, four weeks having passed since Bran left, and in her ignorant bliss she had never realized just how much work he had done for her. Finola found herself so bone-weary by the end of each day, talking was an effort, and even playing with her mabari seemed hard work. She spent her evenings relaxing on her lumpy chair with a snifter of brandy - the snifter _he_ had regularly used- staring blankly into the blazing hearth while awaiting Sebastian's typical late arrival. What she did to pass the time was contemplate; analyzing and lamenting every word she and Bran spoke before he left.

" _I'll write to you, for advice and-"_

" _Don't write me, Finola. To be reminded of this… of you… Life is too short."_

" _At least let me give you my boxwood tiger, the one that was your favorite from my collection."_

" _I cannot accept that. It's your favorite as well."_

" _I insist. Please take it, as a remembrance. And if you can just send word somehow, so I know you're out of harm's way…."_

" _Your selfishness is truly beyond reform, Fin. Please don't ask more of me than I can give."_

" _At least that's better than saying no."_

" _Is it? The manuals you need are in my bookcase. I suggest you read them by yesterday if you expect to keep the templars off your back. In any case, I've tarried here much longer than I should have."_

Finola shook her head, finding it hard to believe he'd been gone four weeks already. Why did he haunt her thoughts so? She had Sebastian now, and every night with him had been relaxed, comforting, rewarding even.

However, it bothered her that Sebastian had not once hinted that he wanted to make love, not even as he lay beside her every night, cuddling and cooing in her ear. Instead, he allowed a gradual, friendly closeness to be restored after their reconciliation. He was as busy as she was, formulating his plan of attack, and securing and packing supplies and rations for the trip northward to Starkhaven. Nighttime often found them holding hands and chatting by the hearth, regaining trust and solidifying their relationship with talk of the future in between tender kisses. This new relationship had him showering Finola with amorous touches, soft shoulder rubs and foot massages. In those four weeks, they had grown closer as friends and romantic partners, but not as intimate lovers. She didn't want to press him and thought maybe a slower, guarded approach was better after all. However, she couldn't say if it pleased her or not, knowing he was firm in his opinion and unwilling to modify it, not even for her.

Rising from the chair, she wearily climbed the stairs to her chamber and sat at her desk, taking out a somewhat wrinkled vellum and a quill. The edges of the blank parchment were frayed from her frequent handling, and some wrinkles needed to be smoothed out before she could write a word. Her sad smile turned down into a frown, remembering her attempts to delay the inevitable that day.

" _Are you sure you have everything? Imagine how angry you'd be if you arrive in Markham only to find you've forgotten your favorite tunic, or your trusty comb. Don't forget your History of Kirkwall text or your manual on hawking. Oh, and your warm woolen cloak because it may be cooler inland. Do you have your boot knife? I should have taught you more, worked on your speed and-"_

" _Stop, Fin. Just stop. Your blathering is not helping either of us, endearing as it is. Nothing will keep me from walking out that door."_

Finola knew she deserved the anguish she brought upon herself, knowing the dangers of playing with fire when she decided to take Bran as a lover. When the time came to choose, when she was _forced_ , Bran was gallant and stepped aside, and yet what remained now seemed only half of what she desired. Damn her idealistic notions. She had not been honest with herself, or Sebastian and Bran, selfishly dragging them into an emotional abyss. She knew her relationship with Sebastian was built on lies and uncertainties, and if she didn't change her deceitful ways, it could spell disaster for all concerned. Was that all she had to look forward to now?

Closing her eyes, she could see Bran's face the morning he left her office; the slight swelling of his red-rimmed eyes and the worried tightness across his brow. With his thumb under his chin, he rubbed the side of his finger back and forth across the stubble on his chin in thought, a habit she had always found quite attractive, and rather… cute. Not that she would _ever_ have told him he was cute. _Cute_ was not a word Bran held close to his heart. Now Finola thought she should have said he was cute, or told him that it would make any woman proud to call him _husband_. Most of all, she should have told him how he had changed the very fiber of her being. Her stomach twisted in knots longing for another chance to say all the things left unsaid.

" _Bran, I'm finding this to be more difficult than I imagined. I don't like goodbyes, and you're so frustrating and distant. I can't blame you but, Maker's balls, it's like a bad dream!"_

" _Stop your grousing already. This is entirely your fault!"_

"You _goaded him, intentionally kissing me in front of him at the bazaar! Damn it, Bran. I never wanted you to leave Kirkwall, and certainly not like this. You do believe me, don't you?"_

" _If it will make you feel any better, then yes, I believe you. And for Maker's sake, stop crying. I can't listen to your sobbing any longer."_

" _Sorry. I don't mean to make this more difficult. You're right though. I_ am _selfish. But I will miss you, Bran. So very much. I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish you'd change your mind."_

" _Say no more, Finola. It is done. Nothing about this life you've made for yourself will be easy, of that I am certain. But I'm an eternal optimist, contrary to popular consensus. In time, these memories will fade, and new dreams will take hold, happier ones."_

" _If you say it will be so, I'll believe you. I always believe you."_

She hung her head low, hating herself for the heartache she had caused Bran. Drifting in a sea of regrets, she didn't hear Sebastian as he walked up behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, earnest in his attempt to massage the knots away. "Finola, is something wrong?"

She jumped at his touch. "Oh!" Then she sneakily stashed the parchment and quill inside the open drawer of her desk, cursing herself for being so distracted. "You're early tonight!"

"And what is that you're hiding from me? A farewell present?"

Her throat went dry and she sipped some water before twisting in her chair to look at him. "Maybe."

"Well, I can think of something I'd prefer more." He had a confident gleam in his eye, almost mischievous.

"Oh? What are you hinting at, Sebastian Vael?" Finola stiffened slightly and lifted her chin.

"We haven't had much time alone when we weren't both totally exhausted. I thought it fitting to spend a romantic evening with my betrothed before my departure. I left Fenris in charge for the night."

She rose from her desk, her white nightgown clinging to her curves, and approached him with a tempting little smile. "I see. And what do you have planned?"

"Funny you should ask." Pulling her into a tight embrace, he kissed the top of her head as her arms locked around his neck, holding onto him, her heart heavy and needful. He smiled as she clung to him and then pulled back, pausing to look at her.

"My plan is to seduce you, and show you _exactly_ what you do to me."

His approach of holding her close and boldly pressing into her had Finola pleasantly surprised. "I think I can _feel_ what I do to you, Sebastian."

"That and more, my love." Eager fingers deftly unbuttoned and glided over her shoulders to slip off her nightgown, allowing it to pool at her feet. There she stood naked, a stunning sight before him.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time." He admired her splendor from head to toe, feeling proud, and aroused, as he softly kissed her lips and trailed his tongue across her neck. "I think it's high time I made love to you, my dear Finola."

Right then, she found herself scooped up in his arms, carried like a blushing bride. He quickly walked to her bed and laid her down gently, her head cushioned by a pillow. Bracing a hand on the side of her shoulder, he hovered over her, his eyes roving along her body, moving slowly, taking in every aspect of her; creamy skin with a hint of pink, full breasts and aroused peaks, long legs with dimpled knee caps.

"Are you going to join me?" Before she could add more, Sebastian had stripped off every stitch of clothing and settled on the bed next to her. Inhibited by his scrutiny, she fought the urge to cover herself and let her hands wander to his back, pulling him against her so she could claim a kiss. And kiss her he did, thoroughly and with a burning passion, leaving her gasping before his lips moved to her neck, pressing and sucking softly. She couldn't hold back the mewling sounds she made as he sprinkled kisses over her throat and down her collarbone, his tongue tracing the ridges and contours of her neckline.

Unintentionally, she turned away, her cheeks flaming, still feeling a little ill at ease with his bare closeness. He simply grinned at her. "Come now, love. It's just you and me," he said. "Relax, Finola. Enjoy this moment with me."

He seemed so smooth and in control, but he felt dizzy, breathless, his body aching and burning, desperate for her hands to touch him. He did nothing but breathe while his body pressed against hers, the friction almost more than he could stand.

Her eyes slipped closed as he brushed his cheek against hers, and she breathed in his scent, pure masculinity with a familiar hint of witch hazel. "Sebastian, could you… hold me for a moment?"

"I will _always_ hold you. Now and until our last day, love." He reached around and pulled her to him, feeling her warm breath in his hair, and he had never felt so much raw passion, so much love course through his body. Every inch of him was tingling and alive, and he never wanted to be separated from her again. With a silent prayer, he pushed the thoughts of his departure away.

She felt his hands knead her back, gently applying fingertip pressure and tracing small circles, easing away her anxiety. "You've been keeping these massage skills from me, Sebastian."

"No more," he promised. "Now kiss me." She pressed her lips to his with a sweet kiss, infinite in its softness, and he could barely contain himself. He felt her hips begin to move against his own, and a primal desire surged through his body, nearly driving him mad. He let one hand roam down to her bottom, and then to the back of her thigh, and he lifted it up. A small moan escaped her busy lips as her arms secured around his neck.

She felt him against her, felt his ever-growing desire, and then he made his move, lifting her leg up onto his hip as his tongue swirled around each nipple, caressing and kissing them. Her body naturally responded and she moaned at his touch, breathy and low. His hands _were_ skilled, his calloused fingertips skimming her body, reminding her how a man's touch could drive her wild.

His lips moved from her chest and were once again at her mouth, kissing and nibbling and stealing her breath away. "Lay back now," he commanded in a hoarse whisper, and she obeyed, her stomach filled with butterflies. As he helped ease her back, he fixed a burning gaze on her once more. "I love you, Finola. You and I were meant to be. I have no doubt of this now."

She licked her lips and smiled, glad he was confident enough for the both of them. "I need to feel you… _please_."

A seeking hand found her wet and ready for him to slide into her warmth, and his arms encircled her, pulling her to him, her hips rising to meet him as he began to sheath himself inside her. Precise and unhurried, they joined, a precious moment shared between them at last, and she welcomed him into her body with a tight embrace, whispering his name. She was lost in a haze of pleasure, feeling secure in his arms as he moved inside her with a steady slowness, relishing their unity.

He noticed her breathing become shallower and her moans quieting, and he knew she was close. With her eyes closed, she moved her hips in time with his, building in urgency, and he was suddenly relentless in his speed and depth. As they climbed to the peak, he whispered words of love, which drowned out the less expressive endearments escaping her lips.

She trembled and he shook, shattering the silent air with their moans. The hum of her release was urging him to spill inside her, and his eyes locked onto hers in reverie. He gave her all of himself, and savored the sensation that swept over him, drunk on the love he felt for her.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they slowly floated down, recovering. Their chests were heaving as flesh pressed to flesh, shuddering breaths steadying by degrees until their muscles relaxed, leaving them sated and boneless.

"Maybe our first heir will grow from our love tonight," he whispered, and she felt his smile on her cheek.

Suddenly, she was drained, and not terribly comfortable with the thought of motherhood. "That would be… somewhat surprising, given this is the first time, and I'm not so young anymore," she said with a bitter twist to her lips.

"Young enough. The Maker has blessed us with each other. Why not a child?"

"Time will tell, Sebastian. Don't count your chickens…."

"And practice makes perfect." She laughed then, smiling at him, admiring his optimism and faith.

She had to admit it was pleasant lying there in his strong arms, finally having made love, and she was, beyond doubt, physically satisfied. He held her close, blanketing her with affection, and she couldn't help but feel safe enveloped in his warmth.

One hand ran languidly over her back as he felt the curves of her body, knowing he was memorizing every dip and bend. Laying there naked with him _seemed_ right, but another feeling crept into her heart, an ache that almost felt like betrayal. Sebastian was tender and sweet, and more than capable with his hands, all the things she dreamt he would be, but something in his gaze was missing. Certainly, there was love, admiration, longing, but she didn't see the ferocity she yearned for. There were no obsequious grins, no teasing words, and certainly no scandalous talk or plays for dominance. Convinced Sebastian would be put off by any of that, she had held back. Now she regretted controlling those urges and not allowing him to see what she truly needed. She was misleading him. Again.

A night she had wanted for so long had come to pass. She had smiled at his reassuring voice, a voice she'd always looked forward to hearing. For years, she had wanted her bare skin against his, to feel his fingers glide over every inch of her, making her heart pound so loud she thought everyone could hear. She had wanted this; to be with the man she loved, the man who loved her. The game was finally over, no more watching and waiting to maneuver, no verbal sparring or flirtatious remarks were needed now. Indeed, the princess had finally claimed her prince, for better or for worse.

All too soon, Finola realized they would not have night after night to enhance and nurture this new union. Silent tears slid from her eyes, and she reached out her hand in search of his, and placed it on her cheek.

"Why are you crying, love?" Sebastian asked in a low, concerned voice, kissing her tears away.

"I'm... I'm just happy, I guess." She heard him breathe out a sigh, and then touched her hand to his cheek only to feel the trail of _his_ joyful tears.

"As am I."

But with dawn's first light, Sebastian too, would be gone.

Wrapped in each other's arms with their limbs entwined, drowsiness began to creep over her, and her last coherent thought came unbidden. _Will you think of me, dream of me, when you fall asleep in Markham?_

* * *

Bran leaned back on his leather office chair, putting his feet up on the desk for comfort. As he rifled through his correspondence, a familiar wax seal caught his eye and he tossed all but that missive back onto his desk.

"Why…? Ah, you blasted woman. You torment me even now." His thumb ran across the hardened red wax and he sighed, reluctant to open the letter. Gazing at the ferocious carved tiger she had given him, curiosity got the better of him and he loosened the seal with his finger, unfolding the letter. The familiar, albeit sloppy, writing brought him back to happier days. He smiled at the thought of Finola sashaying around her office, flailing her arms about as she argued with him over some insignificant item on the day's schedule.

He put the missive to his nose and could almost smell her rose-scented skin. It was nothing but an olfactory memory though, a sweet reminiscence of the woman who still held his heart captive even in her absence. He scanned her words, not absorbing the content, merely looking to make sure it was not some sort of fabrication. Closing his eyes for a moment, he steeled himself for the ultimate despair that gripped him whenever he thought of her for long. "Maker, why must you test me so?"

 _8 Firstfall_

 _Dear Bran,_

 _I know you said you didn't want to hear from me, but I thought I'd let you know how things are in Kirkwall since your departure. You would not believe how much has changed in these last months. They have actually started to rebuild the Chantry, thanks to me. You may shake your head at that, but using my clever charms, I compelled the templars to assist in their downtime, and the citizens are pitching in to do their part as well. People genuinely seem to need a place to pray these days, and sometimes I do too. You would have been proud of me. I must admit, I had a very difficult time after you left, for many reasons. The templars jumped right in and tried to intimidate me, but I told them to sod off! Well, actually, I made a deal with them involving some additional funding for weapons and armor, but the result was the same. This position is much more difficult without a good advisor. The templars are a pushy lot, indeed. How did you ever deal with them for so long?_

"That's what all the brandy was for, Fin," he laughed.

 _I've interviewed more than a few candidates for seneschal, but so far, none have your knowledge and political savvy. And no one has had your sarcastic and witty sense of humor either. I do miss that. Sadly, my days have become rather boring. Although Knight Commander Cullen has some potential for humor, he only shows that part of himself behind closed doors, or so I've heard._

 _All this paperwork has certainly led me to become more 'fleshy' as you once said of me. But don't worry, I plan to live on fruit and brandy for a few weeks. I thought I might spar with Aveline early mornings. Although, she might kick my ass from here to Ferelden. Maybe I'll rethink that._

 _Sebastian and his men have secured the road just past Wildervale. They are moving onward towards Starkhaven as I write this letter. So far, the casualties have been few, but I have a sneaking suspicion that as they approach Starkhaven, the numbers will grow. Fenris fights by his side, as does Isabela. I suspected Isabela had fallen hard for Fenris, but this confirms it. I had questioned their relationship, wondering what he saw in her aside from her exotic ways, but they are surprisingly compatible and honest about their desires and needs. I'm actually happy for them, as I would be for anyone who had found their soul mate._

 _I had thought to ride up and fight for a while, but my duties here are never ending. Not to mention that it wouldn't do for the Viscountess of Kirkwall to get herself killed by some wild, Free Marches tribesman. How I long for a good fight. Maybe in a month or so. Oh, wouldn't that be fun? A skirmish in celebration of Firstday! I can slay the enemy with my feathery quills. Ha._

"For Maker's sake! Why would she do something so stupid? Doesn't she think? And why in blazes hasn't Vael put an end to her reckless impulses?" Bran rubbed his temples, a tension headache rapidly developing.

 _Andraste's ass, the blasted templars are at my door again. Please write me and tell me how you and Lucan fare. Please. It would be a most welcome interruption, Bran. But beware. I spent a small fortune hiring a courier who was willing to ride to Markham._

 _Ever Your Friend and Fellow Politician,_

 _Her Excellency, Finola L. Hawke_

 _Viscountess of Kirkwall, Champion of Kirkwall, and all around shining star in this blasted town!_

 _P.S. I can imagine the scowl on your face right now. I know, I know, using the Viscount's seal is no joking matter. I hope that no one will intercept this letter and make me look like a fool! Or maybe this is the best way to get thrown out of office!_

Bran laughed, but as he ran his finger over a puckered smudge, he wondered why there were no other marks on the letter. It was too much to bear to think she had shed a tear or two for him. But maybe she had. Or maybe her tears were due to boredom. Or maybe it was just a few rain drops bleeding her letters together. He sighed and reread the letter, laughing again at her childish follies.

He had left his heart and soul in Kirkwall, the best of himself. Now he was just an empty vessel waiting to be filled. He was insignificant, this half-man he had become, surviving on instinct, brandy, and little else.

He picked up his quill and flattened a blank parchment on his desk. Four crumpled up letters made their way to the hearth until he finally had one he was willing to send off with a messenger.

* * *

With Sebastian gone, Finola longed for intimate conversation, and excitement that didn't come in the form of a templar ranting about an escaped apostate. Varric and Merrill were busy with their own lives, Merrill having found a nice elven man who shared her love of nature and Varric off taking care of the quarry and mines outside of Kirkwall. Finola had sold the Bone Pit to Varric two years ago for she was too busy to care for it herself. In recent months, most of Varric's spare time was spent running a smooth and profitable operation, which he immediately reverted to its original name, the Maharian Quarry.

She had hoped Bran would respond to her letter, checking with Bodahn every day, several times a day. One rainy evening, a missive came from Markham. She read Bran's letter over and over, sighing and laughing at the same time. And when she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice in every memorized word of his letter.

 _29 Firstfall_

 _Your Excellency,_

 _Greetings from Markham, Viscountess Hawke. Or is it Vael now? In any case, I was surprised to hear from you. The casual absurdity of your letter however, was expected._

 _Lucan and I had an extremely satisfying reunion, but alas, his duty, as well as a certain young maiden, keep him from his father most days. He appears to be smitten with an attractive, fair-skinned young woman. She has the bluest of eyes, deep like the sea. She loves to dance, of all things, and she has a penchant for speaking her mind. I recommended he look for someone more docile and reserved, but he paid me no mind. Ah, youth._

 _I've settled nicely in this quiet town called Markham. It stands in contrast to the busy streets of Kirkwall. In fact, I almost feel like I have retired as life here is unhurried to the point of being mind numbing. My position as Chancellor is not as exciting as I'd like, but that leaves me more time for pleasurable activities. There are often plays and poetry readings in the main courtyard of Castle Longford, and I have been reading the latest history books out of Ferelden as well. I do miss the stimulation and intrigue of the Keep sometimes, but I have found a quaint tavern on the outskirts of town called The Golden Rogue's Flagon. It keeps me distracted and well fed. The minstrels there are particularly adept. There is one remarkable lute player named Magda, a woman of many talents. I've been quite tired lately as visions of wild, stripped felines visit my dreams. But the silvery sounds of Magda's lute lull me to sleep most nights._

 _It is a terrible tragedy that you have not found someone worthy to be seneschal, but chin up, someone capable will come along to replace me, they always do. You have had some success in handling the templars. Splendid. I knew you had what it took. Remember: be firm but cautious, kind but shrewd._

 _I hadn't realized there were wild tribesmen lurking about the forests of the Free Marches. Is this a known fact or something you have conjured up in that imaginative head of yours? If you do venture into the wilds, keep your wits about you. Don't be distracted by the pretty flowers and babbling brooks._

 _The dinner hour approaches and I must head out for a boisterous evening of wine, women, and song. Maybe someday our paths will cross again, and you can join me in my revelry._

 _I wish you good health._

 _Bran S. Wyndham_

 _Chancellor of the Exchequer, Markham_

 _P.S. You should control your silly urges when corresponding to people in respectable positions, or you may very well be relieved of your position. Then I shall laugh._

Finola hugged the letter to her chest before reading it again, imagining the expressions on Bran's face as he wrote every sentence. Her daily life had become so monotonous, and there was no one to complain to, no one who genuinely cared to hear her dilemmas anyway, or so she thought. But reading Bran's letter had lifted her spirits, and she felt more contented than she had in weeks.

Her thoughts drifted to the lute player he mentioned, Magda. Had he moved on already, taking comfort in the arms of another? The twinge of jealousy that gripped her heart was disquieting, to say the least. Why should she care how Bran spent his time, and who he dallied with in Markham? She wanted him to be happy, satisfied, and not pining for her as she thought he would. Still, it caused an aching she could not deny.

Another letter was needed to relieve her thoughts, and a smile ghosted across her face as she began to write.

 _26 Haring_

 _Dear Chancellor,_

 _Oh Bran, what an important-sounding title! Much better than seneschal, in my opinion. I do hope you're not too bored. You know what they say: The biggest bore is the person who is bored by everyone and everything. And I know you are not a dull man. You shall just have to insist that Lucan visit more often. I hope you are treating him and his lady to some fancy meals. Be supportive Bran. Although you may not approve of the woman he has chosen, you need to remember that your pessimistic opinions may alienate your son. True love knows no reason._

 _Sebastian wrote me a very short note and said it shouldn't be much longer now, maybe a few months, before he has vanquished his cousin, Goran. I think he is being too optimistic. Goran has assembled quite a large army and has many of the surrounding lands on his side. But Sebastian has swayed many other nobles to join his cause, and they eagerly provide the coin, men, and equipment he needs. He has guaranteed them all sorts of goods and assets when he reclaims Starkhaven. I tried to tell him not to make promises he couldn't keep, but he firmly believes he'll be able to follow through, and who am I to argue with the man? Besides, he keeps telling me I know little about the machinations of hostile invasions. It seems he has forgotten how we spent the last few years._

 _Do tell me more about this tavern. I'm surprised you are spending time among the common folk. Or could it be that someone has garnered your attentions? If so, I hope she makes you happy, Bran._

 _It's funny, I keep seeing your name on some document, or your favorite brandy glass in my cabinet and I can't help but feel a loss. I miss our talks late into the night, the way you'd tease me when I became unreasonable, or afraid my skills were lacking. I have no one here to act the part of best friend anymore. Sebastian has been gone most weeks, and Aveline has her own cares to tend to. Oh, did I mention that Aveline is with child? She is! Can you imagine her as a mother? I mean she's an honorable person and all, but she's so somber and stern. I hope she learns to have a little fun when her babe arrives. Donnic is just beside himself with joy. It's so sweet to see those two together. Their love manages to flourish despite the odds, and for that, I am envious._

 _I hope that in some small way I have influenced your life for the better, although I don't know that I have. It's pathetic, really, when I think of how much you sacrificed when you left Kirkwall while I sit here in my cushy chair, not a care in the world. Well, that's not entirely true. I do have some cares, but most of those lay in faraway lands, be it Starkhaven or Markham. I am trying my best to stay focused on the tasks at hand, but I admit I'm distracted by my worries for Sebastian, as well as my concerns for you, and I pray every day for guidance in reconciling these feelings._

 _Oh, but I've blathered on far too much for your liking, no doubt. I look forward to reading another of your amusing letters. That is if you see fit to write me again. Know that you are in my thoughts and prayers, as is your son. Stay well, and don't be a bore!_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Finola L. Hawke_

 _Viscountess of Kirkwall_

Before she could toss the letter into the hearth, she handed it to Bodahn with strict instructions to engage a courier post-haste.

More than four long, lonely weeks later, she found herself running up the stairs to plop onto her bed and tear open a missive from Bran. The smile she wore in anticipation would have warmed the coldest of hearts.

 _30 Wintermarch_

 _Dear Finola,_

 _Why is it you are so interested in my private affairs? Haven't you enough to worry about in Kirkwall? I am merely doing what it takes to keep me entertained until I decide to move on from this backwater town._

 _Lucan and Celia are betrothed now, much to my dismay, but I heeded your advice and held my tongue. He is happy, and therefore, I am happy. However, he and his men are expected to dispatch to the Montsimmard border by Drakonis. Maybe it is, in fact, time I retire to warmer climes. I understand Wycome is lovely and seasonable throughout the year. I think I shall move there._

 _I don't expect we shall ever meet again, at least not until we enter the next world. I will always treasure our time together. Those last few days in Kirkwall are never far from my thoughts. However, I do have one last request of you, one favor I beg. Discontinue your correspondence to me, Finola. I no longer want to hear of your life in Kirkwall, and certainly not Starkhaven. Should you ignore my plea, know that I shall burn each missive you send. I'm sorry, but this is how it must be._

 _And do not fret for me, Finola. I have my memories. Oddly enough, they keep me sane and looking toward the future. I have never lied to you and you know this. Never doubt that I am a better man for knowing you. Take care of yourself, and promise me that you will always make the right decision and follow the path to fulfillment and happiness. I wish the best for you and your future, wherever it may lead, and I shall continue to believe that all things happen for a reason._

 _Farewell, beautiful tigress._

 _Bran S. Wyndham_

 _Chancellor of the Exchequer, Markham_

Finola was stunned, her mouth agape, disbelieving the words she had just read. "He can't mean this. He's only been in Markham a few months."

 _You must choose wisely, girl, or else tragedy will strike those you love._ A cold hard lump sat in her throat, her stomach nervously twitching. The gypsy's words had come back to her, as did the same ominous sensation that crawled through her body when Violca held her hands. It settled in her lungs, heavy and smothering. Her bones ached with trepidation, and her heart filled with gloom as sweat formed on her brow. She started to panic with thoughts of… of what?

His sudden foreboding tone, his rush to leave Markham, a definite depressed quality to his words. Something wasn't right. She sensed it in her gut. But what? Her letters _would_ go unread, she was sure of it. Bran would never lie about that. She couldn't imagine what manner of trouble he could be in, but one thing was clear: Finola had to get to the bottom of it, and soon.


	10. Hidden Truths

"I think I'm being punished," Finola said sifting through the small travel bag on her lap.

Varric smirked as he buffed Bianca's stock. He shifted around on the couch, his gaze roaming up to face her. "Kicking puppies again, Hawke?"

Finola rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. If I had to do it again, I'd let him go. You must have hated me," she sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Anders did what he thought best for his cause, right or wrong. And I didn't see much choice offered to you at the time." Varric tipped his head, regarding his friend's current dismal mood. "Besides, Choir Boy was threatening to leave. Everything worked out for you in the end, right?"

"It seemed that way at the time, but now I'm not so sure." Finola shoved some dried meats into her pack. "You have any extra health potions on you?"

"You're not setting foot outside Kirkwall without me you know." Varric sat straight up, knowing that resolute look in her eye.

"I'll tell you my plans, but do _not_ argue about coming with me. You're busy with the mines anyway."

"I have employees to run things in my absence. If you're going to Starkhaven, so am I," he insisted.

She shook her head. "I'm taking the long way around and I've already hired some of our mercenary friends to accompany me."

"Long way?" Varric's eyes widened. "No, no, no. Why would you risk it all for him, Hawke? He left you and didn't look back." Finola glanced around the room, hesitant to look Varric in the eye. "Or is there something you're not telling me?"

Finola glared at the fireplace as Varric waited for a response. Ultimately, she turned her head with a loud sigh and faced him. "He left _for_ me, Varric, to make it easier for me and Sebastian to…." She shook her head, searching for the right words. "…to _rekindle_ what we had before. It was a selfless act on his part. And nothing would have changed his mind either." Finola reached into a pocket and handed Varric a folded parchment. "But that's beside the point. Tell me what you think about this." She closed her eyes as thoughts of Bran injected themselves into her mind yet again.

 _It would take more than a few thoughtless words to make me turn away from you, Finola... I enjoy spoiling the people I love… You are good for me, as I am good for you. One day soon, you will realize that._

Varric had the strangest look on his face when he finally dropped his eyes to read. Finola was a little embarrassed to let him to see such a private letter, but she wanted his opinion, good or bad. When she judged that he was almost done, she blurted a preemptive strike. "And no comments of a personal nature either!"

Too late. His smile was as big as the moon. "Tigress? Tigress! Oh ho, this is _marvelous_! Can I hold it over your head? _Please_?"

"Watch it, Tethras. You're one of only two people I would allow to get away with teasing me like this, but don't test me. I assume I don't have to tell you to keep this to yourself?"

"You assume correctly." _One of two? Bran again. Interesting._ "Can I at least call you _tigress_ when we're alone?"

"Come on, Varric." She poked him in the arm. "Skip to the letter."

"What about his other letters?" he asked with that knowing eyebrow of his raised to the ceiling.

" _Letter_. Totally opposite. It sounded as he was before… he seemed himself."

"Well, from what I know of Markham it's loaded with political corruption. It's a very small town, to the point where some marriages aren't far from incestuous. Few shops, not much for sights, although there is a nice tavern there. I think it was called the Rogue's Flagon."

" _Golden_ Rogue's Flagon," she corrected. "What do you make of his tone?"

"Seems depressed. Do you think he's suicidal?"

She shook her head adamantly. "No way. Bran loves his son too much. He would never do that to Lucan."

"You didn't need me to read this, Hawke." Varric handed her the letter, holding it for a split second so she had to yank it from his grasp. "You're just looking for someone's approval."

… _but a tiger's stripes never change, Finola dear._

"But I think he's in some kind of trouble, although I can't imagine what kind. I _have_ to go, Varric. I cannot sit idly by while he suffers from… whatever it is that caused him to write a letter like _this_ to _me_. If it were you, you know I'd do anything to help you."

"It's risky, on many levels," Varric stated. "And what about Vael?"

"I've got that covered. Here." Another parchment was in Varric's hand suddenly.

 _12 Drakonis_

 _Dear Sebastian,_

 _Now that things are settling down in Starkhaven, I thought it would be a convenient time to ride up and check on you. I'll be taking my mabari with me, as well as some familiar mercenaries who were looking for work, so don't worry about me needlessly. I'm also curious as to the condition of your estate. I hope it did not suffer much damage from the fighting at the end of your repossession._

 _I've wrapped up some key projects here in Kirkwall and left Cullen detailed instructions on several others. He is more than up to the task, I'm sure._

 _I'm very anxious to speak with you, Sebastian._

 _See you soon._

 _As always,_

 _Finola_

"Dated a week ahead," Varric sighed. "This dishonesty is going to be your undoing, Hawke." Varric eyed her as she stared at Bran's letter, noticing her eyes glazing over, straining to hold back tears. "Finola," he said quietly, using her given name, which he only did in _certain_ situations. She looked at him with despairing eyes, her emotions laid bare, and he had to ask. "Do you love him?"

"Which one?" she asked with a snort.

"Either one I guess."

"Is it possible to be in love with two men at the same time? Or am I just an idiot."

Varric shook his head with a consoling smile. "I'm not one for name calling, Hawke, but if you don't figure out who you want soon, that could change. I will tell you one thing; I may have been wrong about you and Bran. There's a connection there, a bond of some sort, more than friendship." Varric eyes went soft. "You really need to decide if this is a beginning or an end… or maybe both. You're not getting any younger, you know."

"Neither are you," she shot back. "But I hear you, Varric." Finola knew he was right; he was always right. She had to make a decision before everything in her world fell apart. "What's your excuse then, huh?"

"One person in love with me would be bad enough, but two? I can see how well _that's_ worked out for you. No thanks. I'll stick with one night stands." He jumped from his seat. "All right. When do we leave?"

"I've already hired the mercs, Varric. You needn't come," she said unconvincingly.

"Bianca's been itching for action. Besides, those mercs don't know shit about covert operations. They're strictly in it for the kill. You might need a man on the inside with my particular flair for conversation."

"Just like old times. But now we have horses!" She slapped him on the shoulder, letting her excitement for his company show. "You're not still afraid of them, are you?"

"Nah. Some of my best friends have four legs." Varric bent over and scratched her mabari behind his ears. "I'll meet you at the stables in two hours."

Speeding past Bodahn, Varric flew out the door as fast as his little legs could take him. Finola picked up her pack and peered around her house, praying she was doing the right thing. _Maker help me._

"Bodahn, see that this letter is sent _exactly_ one week from today, on the twelfth. Understood?"

"Yes, messere. Will you be gone long?"

"I don't know." She glanced at the letter in which she'd carefully skirted the truth. "I'm heading for Starkhaven, with a stop or two along the way. But my whereabouts is strictly confidential. Tell no one when I left, or whom I left with. Not even Aveline."

"Of course, messere."

"Keep an eye on Clara and make sure she doesn't take in too many new patients. Otherwise, she'll heal until she drops. And thanks, Bodahn. You've been very loyal and I owe you a great deal." In a surprise move, she planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving him stuttering as she marched out the door shouting. "Take care of yourself and Sandal!"

* * *

Everything went as planned. They rode the trail in between the coastline and the Vimmark Mountains, her mabari trotting close by. The trip was estimated to take seven days, eight at the most, and she had prayed for calm weather and little interruption, especially in the form of bandits.

After a hard week of riding, and only a few skirmishes, they finally arrived in Markham the afternoon of the seventh day. Calling it a backwater town was an understatement. Except for Castle Longford, which was relatively small by castle standards, the entire town wasn't much larger than Lowtown and the docks combined. They made their way to the Coat of Arms Inn and Finola left the mercenaries to their own devices while she, Varric, and the mabari left for the tavern.

 _Allow me to show you how it could be for us, Finola, if you'd only give me the chance._

As they walked the quiet streets of Markham, her eyes were constantly darting around in search of Bran. They came upon the charming tavern Bran had mentioned, The Golden Rogue's Flagon. Neat flowerbeds graced the doorway, clean windows afforded a view inside, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen's vents. It was quite unlike their usual haunts, with its elaborate hand-carved depiction of a blonde rogue wielding two daggers and killing a dragon.

"Hawke, I think that's you!" Varric pointed to the tavern sign with a giant smile.

If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought the carved woman was modeled after herself too. _Wouldn't that be rich?_ she thought _._ Laughing, she turned to Varric. _"_ If it _is_ me, I never received the royalties."

"And you never will," Varric said.

Eying the sky, Finola checked the sun's position. One hour until suppertime. "Varric, just watch through a side window. If Bran shows up, stay out of view."

"You got it." Varric motioned to the mabari and headed toward the side of the building.

Finola opened the heavy door and looked around, taking in the sights and sounds. In a hurried effort to reach an empty table, she pushed through the crowd, paying little attention to whom she shoved. She ignored the grumbles of a nearby patron remarking on her aggressive maneuvers and finally sat at a table, throwing a murderous glance at the drunken stranger now looming over her. _I should have been better prepared for an onslaught of drunks_. "Get lost, messere. I'm in no mood for company."

"Pushing _me_ aside, you'd think you were the Hero of Ferelden! All high and mighty like you got more important things to do than sit with us commoners."

She sneered, but then chuckled as a young barmaid hit the drunk with her empty pitcher. "Go away, Rob!" The girl turned her doe eyes to Finola and looking up, smiled at her. She placed the pitcher on the tabletop and moved closer to Finola. Though not all together unattractive, she needed a bath, and Finola had to take a step back. "My name's Jenny. Are you looking for a bit of company this evening?"

"No, just information. Easy money for you if you answer a question or two."

The barmaid sulked a bit and pursed her lips in a mock pout. "Are you sure, love? I make good company, and we rent rooms by the hour."

"I _said_ no thanks." Finola flashed the coins in her palm.

"Suit yourself." Jenny held out her hand, and as soon as the girl stashed the money in her pocket, she nodded once. "Go on and ask."

"Is Seneschal- I mean is Bran Wyndham here every night?"

"Only nights when Magda is here," she chirped.

"And which woman is she?" Finola glanced around trying to pick out the kind of woman Bran would be interested in getting to know better. Her gaze came to rest on an attractive musician holding a lute. _She must be Magda_.

"Over there," she pointed toward a corner, "that blonde with the lute. Maker's breath, but you could pass for her sister!"

 _I knew it._ Finola could see Magda clearly as she talked with two other musicians; long blonde hair with a slight wave, tall for a woman, slighter build than Finola, but similarly squared shoulders, bright almond-shaped eyes that seemed to be light colored.

Jenny looked at Finola and made a face. "That's a little creepy."

"You don't know the half of it. Thanks, Jenny." Turning away, Finola circled around and crept up next to Magda, leaning in to catch her off guard when she spoke. "I hear you're quite friendly with Bran Wyndham."

The woman started and spun around, narrowing her eyes. "I know him. What of it?" Their uncanny resemblance was not lost on Magda either as she observed Finola suspiciously.

"Fifty silvers should be enough to loosen your tongue, yes?" Magda shifted her eyes back and forth, making sure no one was listening, and then nodded slowly. "Tell me, do you expect him tonight?"

"Maybe. He hasn't missed many nights I've played here."

"How is he?"

"Oh, he's a _stallion_ in bed, commanding too. Sometimes I have to-"

"No!" _Mine, as I am yours_ , he had told her. Finola's heart seized for a moment, but she pushed away thoughts of Bran with another woman. "No, I meant how he fares. Is he well?"

"Well enough." She shrugged. "Who are you anyway? Some old flame come to steal him back?"

"I'm asking the questions here," Finola asserted with a jingle of her coin pouch. "What do you know of his past?"

"Nothing much. He came from Kirkwall, left a seneschal position." Magda picked at her nails in between eying the people of the tavern. "He said his wife died there."

Finola narrowed her eyes. "He mentioned Calista?"

"No, not Calista," she said. "It was Fannuka… Fannula... something like that."

"Finola," she whispered. _You've brought more happiness to my life than any woman I've ever known, even Calista._ It felt like a pile of bricks had just landed on her chest and it took her breath away; she was sure her heart had just broken in two.

"Yeah, that's it! Sometimes he calls me that when we're alone… _you know_."

 _Maker help me. Hold it together…_ "And did he say," she paused, the lump in her throat now a permanent fixture, "how she died?"

"Said she took an arrow to her heart, some Chantry brother gone mad. Makes no sense to me. Eh, but what sense can a drunken man make in the throes of passion, huh?"

 _Maker, no. Oh Bran. What have I done to you?_ "Surely he's not taken to being a drunkard?"

Magda's eyes scanned the tavern again. "I don't rightly know. I'm only here three nights a week."

Finola wondered why she seemed so nervous. Her instincts were telling her that Magda was up to no good, and Finola was determined to figure out what this woman was hiding. "If he arrives tonight, say nothing of my questions or my presence. There's more gold for your silence, all right?"

She nodded. "You certainly have that look about you, like a jilted lover maybe."

"I'm just an old friend. I plan to… surprise him later. But remember, say _nothing_. I'll be sitting in that corner booth back there, watching you." Finola pinned her with her most menacing glare before turning to walk away.

In the two hours that passed, three ales were finished off by the time Finola began to tire. The heavy hood of her cloak retained more heat than was necessary in the tavern, but she couldn't expose her identity so she grumbled to herself and suffered. The minstrels were playing their last set of songs, and it appeared as though she had come for nothing.

Just as she was about to rise from her seat, she heard a shriek from Magda's direction. "Colin! You're late, you naughty boy. Tom! A whiskey for our new Chancellor!"

 _New chancellor? What is this about?_

"Ah, Magda. I had some lingering details to wrap up," the well-dressed man said.

"What'll it be tonight, love? Interested in something special?" Magda sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him ferociously. His response was hardly enthusiastic, although he did whisper something into Magda's ear that made her smile like a cat that caught a canary.

When Magda pulled back, Finola didn't miss the narrowed glance in her direction. _A whore as well as a musician_. She also realized she was close enough to their table to hear everything they were saying. Colin swallowed his whiskey down and waved for another.

Magda stood and leaned into Colin, her cleavage just about spilling out. "One more song for you, and then we can go upstairs, hm?"

"I'm quite tired tonight. I may just have a few drinks and go home instead. Go play for now." Colin waved her toward the musician's corner.

"I can help you with your aching muscles. You _know_ I have the hands of an Antivan masseuse," Magda drawled in an exaggerated tone that made Finola's stomach twist.

"Then maybe you can interest that sot over there," Colin's voice boomed as he jerked his thumb at a nearby patron. "Leave me now, Magda. Go play your lute."

Finola waved over a server girl. She handed her some coins and pointed at Colin. "Send that man there a whiskey. Then quietly show him who paid."

"Right away, messere."

Finola unfastened her cloak and removed it, laying it beside her on the bench. Her heart was pounding with an insane nervousness, fearing Bran would come in the tavern at any minute. She watched as the server walked over to the man and placed the drink on the table before leaning in to whisper in his ear. His head turned slowly, following the point of her finger until his eyes locked onto Finola's.

Finola smiled and offered a friendly wave to him, but still, he sat staring. "What do you need, lady?"

"I just have a question for you." Colin made no motion to stand up, so Finola huffed and walked to his table, her eyes never leaving his face. "I hear you work for Bran. Any idea where I can find him?"

"And who might you be?" he asked curtly.

She didn't care for his tone one bit and firmly placed her palms on the table, moving her head to meet his eyes. "Someone you shouldn't trifle with. I am the Viscountess _and_ Champion of Kirkwall and you will address me as Your Excellency."

"Ha! And I'm the King of Ferelden! I suppose you think-"

In the blink of an eye, Finola pulled out a small blade and held it the man's throat, her Champion's ring glinting into the man's eyes. "It would be in your best interest to believe every word I say, jackass. Now, apologize to me." The tip of her dagger pressed in, breaking his skin with a trickle of blood.

"All right! I believe you. I'm sorry, _Your Excellency,_ " he said, a sarcastic tone still evident.

Finola glanced around the tavern and no one looked about ready to approach her, so she continued. "Lose the attitude and tell me where can I find my friend, Chancellor Bran Wyndham?"

"A friend, you say? And as his friend, you _must_ be aware that he's no longer Chancellor, musn't you?"

His smug expression nearly sent Finola over the edge, but she reined in her anger. "Did he quit?"

"Resigned. Such an embarrassing situation, being suspected of skimming some town fat for himself. I am the new Chancellor of the Exchequer."

"He would never steal from the people. You, on the other hand, are a slimy bastard. _That_ I can see. Was he arrested?"

"The investigation proved fruitless, but everyone knows Wyndham was the only one with the resources to do it. Everyone except for that sap, Lord Walter. He never accused Wyndham outright and let him resign under the pretense that he was growing too ill to perform his duties."

Finola's heart skipped a beat in between its thunderous pounding in her chest. "Ill? How so?" _This can't get much worse_.

"He's grown thinner, lacking in energy. His mind is a bit slower. Must be early senility."

 _I smell a rat, maybe two._ _I'm going to kill these mother fuckers if anything happens to Bran._ "Enjoy your title for now. When I can prove whatever underhanded schemes you've got going on, I will cut your heart out and feed it to my mabari."

"Oh please. Your threats are laughable. You would be stripped of your titles and publically humiliated." For all his bravado, Colin tried to back his head away from her dagger, but she held it firmly.

"You've mistaken me for someone who gives a shit about their standing in the community. If you live long enough, you'll learn that titles are meaningless," she said with a dark chuckle. "Just tell me where he is before I end your career right here in this tavern."

There was no other choice but to tell the truth, and then she'd be out of his hair, at least for the night. "Lord Walter requested his presence at Castle Longford. There is a special event there tonight, some poet from Orlais gracing Markham with eloquent verse."

"Take a good look at my face." The edge of her dagger nicked his cheek. "If you see it again, you'd better start running."

 _But the thought of you hurt or never seeing you again…._ Bran had told her, and she was beginning to understand how he had felt.

She gathered her cloak, and quickly fled the tavern, collecting Varric and the mabari with a whistle.

As they headed to the inn, Finola explained the details of her conversation with Colin. Once again, Varric heard her fretful tone, watched her hand gestures and expressions as she spoke of Bran. She was not quite falling apart, but certainly flustered, and it convinced him that she held more affection for Bran than she realized. In all the time Sebastian was gone, he hadn't seen her on the edge, hadn't seen her worrying and scared for his safety the way she was for Bran's now. _It must be love_ , he thought.

After changing into something more suitable for a poetry reading, Finola and Varric went to the castle, immediately proving to the guards her position of power in Kirkwall. Varric tailed her along the periphery, keeping out of sight most of the time, but keeping a close eye on those near her. The courtyard was loud with festivities. So many people had gathered, it was almost difficult to negotiate through the crowd.

As her eyes ranged over the revelers, an older, classically handsome man strolled toward her. "Viscountess Hawke, your reputation precedes you."

Judging by his attire, and the ogling eyes of several nearby women, it was clear to her who was approaching. "Lord Walter," Finola said, offering a quick bow. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. And you _are_ as handsome as I've heard."

"Ah, you do know how to make an old man feel young again." He grinned at her flattering remark. "The lucky man who stole your heart would be jealous of your lavishing compliments on me. You are to marry the Prince of Starkhaven, correct?"

She feigned a coy smile. "I am the lucky one, my Lord. Sebastian is the most honorable man I have ever met, a true prince among men."

"His success is the topic of discussion all over Thedas. Such a powerful alliance certainly bodes well for Kirkwall." He stepped closer, and leaned into her personal space. "If you have some time, we should discuss _our_ mutual interests."

 _Ah, politics_. "Certainly. I expect to stay here at least until tomorrow."

"See my man Northrup before you leave tonight and he will set up a meeting. But enough politics. Go and mingle." He craned his neck around, searching the courtyard. "There is someone else here you are quite familiar with too; my friend, Bran Wyndham." Lord Walter continued to watch the dense crowd. "He can introduce to some of the more important officials in Markham. Where can he be?"

 _Shit, shit, shit._ "Oh, is he here tonight?" _Why am I so nervous… and scared?_

"He's here... somewhere. Probably fawning over one of those poetry enthusiasts in the courtyard."

… _Mine_ … _as I am_ _yours._

Thoughts of their intimate moments went round and round in her head, and she pinched her arm to make herself stop thinking of him _that_ way. "I understand an _illness_ has suddenly relieved him of his duties."

"Ah, so politically correct, Viscountess. The healers have yet to figure out what has befallen him, but I think he's still far from death's door." Lord Walter tilted his head, scratching at his beard in thought. "Maybe a visit from an old friend would help his current condition. I hear there are exceptionally skilled healers in Kirkwall."

"I'll see what I can do, Lord Walter." _He wants me to take him away from Markham. Interesting._ "He is fortunate to have a friend such as you. I know he appreciates your discretion in the matter of his resignation, as do I."

"It's a terrible shame. I know he's a good man, but I've been unable to find proof of fraudulent actions among his former staff, although it seems to me that you already have your own suspicions. Should you unearth any incriminating information, be sure to let me know."

"As you wish, my Lord. I'm not one to let my friends' reputation be smeared by likes of Colin Mattson."

Lord Walter's eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth to comment just as a harried young page appeared. "Lord Walter! You are needed at the dais!"

"Duty calls, my dear." He placed a light kiss upon the back of Finola's outstretched hand. "I sense you care very deeply for Bran. I'm glad you're on his side. Good luck."

 _Ach, I'm so transparent. But I've got to get to the bottom of this, for Bran's sake._

Once Lord Walter left, Finola turned slowly, taking a sweeping a view of the courtyard. She saw a flash of auburn and suddenly, there was Bran's profile, maybe five feet away. He was oblivious to her presence and she darted toward a nearby shrub in an attempt to hide, but it was several inches too short. She bent her knees and slouched, watching as he spoke to an attractive woman, a woman whose hands were all but grabbing his backside. _Bloody_ w _hore_.

He looked pale and drawn, not standing tall with his characteristic haughty pose of crossed arms and squared shoulders. In fact, his shoulders rounded slightly, making him appear somewhat frail. As he tried to shoo the woman away, it seemed an effort even to speak words, and his arrogant tone missing as well. Even so, he was still as handsome as she'd remembered, and a smile ghosted across her lips at the thought. Then she frowned at another thought.

 _Bran, I'm no good for you. I can't promise my heart to you, and you deserve better,_ she had told him _._

 _But not this._ Finola was at a loss. She just wanted to see him one last time, make sure he was all right, but she never expected drama and intrigue, and certainly not illness. Seeing him now, she had to find out what had changed him. And the longer she stared at him, the more she burned to speak with him. She pinched her cheeks and fluffed her hair, laughing to herself at the absurdity of it all.

Bran shifted, uncomfortable with the woman's attentions, and he turned around. His eyes narrowed and targeted Finola's face, and she watched as his jaw dropped. The sound of his heavy goblet hitting the ground jarred him back to reality. Were his eyes deceiving him with another hallucination? He blinked repeatedly, but still she remained. She motioned for him to move nearer, but his heart was in his throat, choking the air from his lungs. _Did she actually come to Markham?_

"For Maker's sake, Bran. Do I have to come and get you?" Finola asked with _that_ tone, the one he hated, the one he missed. "Oh, you don't recognize me with my hair down, right?"

She laughed then, the sweetest sound he'd heard since he left Kirkwall. Somehow, he managed to walk, and moved his legs forward as time seemed to stand still.

Breathing deeply, he stood frozen, his gaze on her face, struggling to free his mind of the recurrent fog that was affecting him. "Wh-why are you here?" he choked out.

"Good to see you too. Come and walk with me," she whispered. "We need to get away from the prying eyes and big ears." His hand was cold and sweaty when she took it, and she glanced at him, noticing how he was careful with every step, concentrating almost as if he were a child learning to walk. He allowed her to guide him through the crowd, and she led them to a position just beyond a group of musicians which would keep them somewhat hidden. When she looked at him again, Bran was wincing as she pulled him along, causing him physical discomfort, and she let go of his hand instantly. "Bran, did I hurt you?"

He ignored her question and widened his eyes. "Are you that desperate for a seneschal that you would come all the way to Markham and-"

" _Stop_ right there. I was worried about you, and I now see I was right to be concerned." _Maker, he looks like shit._

"Why would you do this, Finola?" His voice was low and his tone alarmingly even with little evidence of emotion.

"I'm… I just wanted to see you. I… _needed_ to see you. I detoured here on my way to Starkhaven to make sure you were all right."

"Detoured? You may as well have gone by way of… of…." He struggled to come up with the word and finally said, "Ferelden. I'm fine. If there's nothing else, I will take my leave for the night."

His behavior stunned Finola, completely. "What? No! Let me explain."

"Isn't that what you just did? You've seen me and now I'm leaving."

"Bran, wait! Give me a chance to say… to... to tell you…."

He saw the tears well up in her eyes, her breathing become ragged and he knew _something_ was amiss. "Did Vael do something to you?" She shook her head. "Then what is this about?"

"You. I've missed you, and," she paused, saddened by his poor health. "You look awful, Bran. I almost can't believe my eyes… Tell me about this illness."

"There's nothing to tell," he said with little inflection, reminding her of a tranquil mage.

"The healers must have told you _something_." She studied his face, worry lines creasing his forehead in abundance. He was squinting, even though the sun had already set, and she noted that his eyes were dilated beyond a normal size. The yellowish pallor of his skin and his slow speech concerned her even more. "Come closer, and let me smell your breath, Bran."

"This is absurd. You're an expert on symptoms of disease now?" He turned to leave and she grabbed his arm, shocked by his lack of strength as he attempted to pull away.

"Please, Bran. I have a good idea what has happened to you. Now just let me smell your breath and I'll know for sure." He didn't have the energy to fight her and consented, opening his mouth slightly. She stuck her nose right up to it and inhaled deeply. Almost immediately, her eyes pinched shut, distress and outrage plain on her face.

"What is it, Fin?" he asked naively.

"A toxin," she whispered, afraid to say the _other_ word, to admit the alarming truth. He had all the symptoms: sallow skin, stiff joints and weakened muscles, dull eyes, and slow thinking. But it was the tomato-like odor of the jimson weed on his breath that convinced her. "Poison, Bran, you've been poisoned. We have to get you to a reputable healer," her speech quickened. "I can't believe no one has realized this! Maker's breath, what in blazes is wrong with you? You should have left this town and sought help! How could you be so stupid?"

He stared at her for what seemed minutes. Was he truly unable to process the information he had just heard? "You came all this way just to call me stupid?"

" _What_? Bran, you have a deadly poison coursing through your veins. We need to leave immediately. Don't you understand? It could kill you, and I won't lose you again!"

His brows rose at her last words, mistaking her meaning. "If this is about looking for someone to help you in Kirkwall, I am not that man, not any longer."

"This isn't about me! Bran, can't you see what it's done to you? It's clouding your judgment." She fixed her gaze on his obstinate profile. "You trust me, don't you? I would never lie about this."

"Leave me alone, Finola. I don't need your method of assistance. Where has it ever gotten me? Just go back to Kirkwall, or Starkhaven, any place but here."

 _How could you resist the prospect of becoming a true princess? It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?_

"No, damn it!" she answered herself. "Bran, wait. Let me help you!" He turned away from her, slowly ambling into the crowd. For one hopeful, agonizing moment, he stopped and peered back over his shoulder to look at her. He wore the same wretched expression as the night he told her to go to Sebastian. She shouted after him, hoping he would change his mind. "Bran!" He turned away from her again, tearful this time. "I'm at the Coat of Arms! Second floor! _Please_! Think about what I've said!"

"What did I miss?" Varric panted after his sprint across the courtyard.

"Everything, Varric!" she screamed at him, and then hung her head, discouraged. "Everything. What do I do now?" Lifting her head, she stared into the crowd, her mind racing with thoughts of her next course of action. "Varric, how are your antidote-making skills these days?"

"Poison, huh? Oh boy. I can make the stuff, but the real question is, can we find the ingredients around here?" He took her by the hand and led _her_ for once. "I was talking to Markham's premier apothecary a little while ago. Let's go find him again."

"Maker, Varric. Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

"Well Hawke, the only thing I've ever seen that causes complications is love. Everything else? Easy as falling off a log."

"Right." She gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks, Varric."

He looked up at her, smirking. "Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally poisoned Isabella?" Finola shook her head and rolled her eyes at the same time. "Well, we had just left the Blooming Rose after an all day experiment of sorts, and-"

"Experiment?" she cut in. "No, don't tell me."

"Yeah, that part might make your toes curl. Anyway, we get to the Hanged Man and Isabela promptly throws up all over the bar. So I ask her if there's a chance she's in the _family way_ , and she hauls off and belts me! I don't hit women, but she needed to be taught a lesson, so I pulled out a vial of what I thought was a muscle relaxing potion, with _certain_ _side effects_ ," he said winking, "forgetting the fact that I also had a mild hallucinogenic poison of the same color in my pocket."

"How have I not heard this story?"

"She swore us all to secrecy. Eh, but it was a long time ago. Anyway, I dosed her ale and after a little while, the hallucinations began. She was all pirate that night! I swear she hung from the rafters in between chasing Vael and Fenris around with grabby hands, pinching them _everywhere_ when she got close!"

"And her revenge?"

"Brutal." Varric smiled at Finola's enjoyment of the story, happy to distract her if only for a short while. "She slipped me a particular type of muscle enhancing potion. Let's just say I couldn't button my pants for a couple days."

Finola looked away, but couldn't help the grin taking hold of her lips. "Maker's breath, Varric. Too much information."

"Ah. Sorry. Some of the ladies appreciated it though."

"I bet." Finola laughed at Varric's slight blush. "Varric, you're a good friend. Don't ever let me forget that."

"Not a chance, Hawke," he said. "Hey, there's the apothecary!" he shouted as he pointed his finger. "Let's get those ingredients and mix up a cure for your main man, Bran. Ha! It rhymed."

"My _main man_ ," she scoffed. "Varric, my love, _you_ are my main man."

"Yeah, we'll see, Hawke, we'll see."


	11. Two Souls, One Heart

* * *

_When love once pleads admission to our hearts,  
In spite of all the virtue we can boast,  
The woman that deliberates is lost. - Joseph Addison_

* * *

Finola sat next to Varric and stared at the fire blazing in the hearth of her rented room, remembering the first time Bran admitted his love for her.

… _were you mine, I would love you with the fiercest of hearts._

 _Would you still_? she wondered.

In veritable silence, Finola and Varric waited for their meals to be delivered while Finnegan, Finola's mabari, snuggled around her legs. The warmth from his body soothed her aching feet, and when she bent over to scratch his head, he let out a mournful cry in keeping with her present mood. "I know, Finn. I'm sad about him too. Did you know he's the only person who's ever asked why I named you after myself? I heard nothing but dog jokes for days."

"Why did you?" Varric asked. "It's an ego thing, isn't it?"

"I just thought it would be funny." She shrugged lazily. "I don't know. _I_ thought it was funny." She sighed, and shook one of the vials of antidote they had scrambled to make with ingredients from the one and only apothecary in Markham. "Somehow, I will get him to drink this, even if I have to knock him out to do it." Finnegan barked in agreement.

"Good thing I had more concentrator. This town is pathetically devoid of raw ingredients," Varric complained. "And where's our food? I'm starving!"

A knock came at the door, and Varric rose to answer it as Finola continued to stroke her mabari's head. "Ask and you shall receive, Varric." When she heard it swing open, she waved a finger behind her, motioning to put the food on the table near the door. "Just have him leave it over there, Varric. I'll settle my bill when we leave."

"Uh, yeah. I'll do that, Hawke."

Finola heard the door close and then nothing more, not a sound coming from behind her. Before she had a chance to turn around, she heard him. "Is this how you greet all your guests?"

The familiar voice shocked her, exhilarated her, and she jumped from the chair. "Bran!" She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him urgently. Spontaneous tears dampened his shirt as she nestled her face in his shoulder. "Thank the Maker you've come."

"Easy, Fin. You're wrinkling my finery." He pulled back, a small smile forming on his lips. "It seems I need your help after all."

"Of course you do!" She turned away, hiding her face and swiping at the tears. "I was less than an hour away from finding you and knocking you unconscious so I could pour the antidote down your throat." She blew out a breath and shook her head at him. "What changed your mind?"

"Something Lucan asked of me before he left. That, coupled with what you said about possible poisoning."

"There's no question about it. You've been poisoned." She studied his dim eyes, his somber face. "What did Lucan ask of you?" she inquired impulsively. "If you don't mind telling me, that is."

He hesitated, but decided his intentions were most likely obvious. "In a weak moment, I told him of you, of us. When he left for Montsimmard, he made me promise that I would," he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, "speak to you, clear the air as it were, should we ever meet again."

Finola smiled. "I'm so glad you confided in him, Bran. That must have been somewhat… therapeutic, no?"

"Its effects were temporary. Anyway," he said, rolling a vial between his fingers, "just before Varric left, he winked at me for some reason, and then handed me this. The antidote I presume?"

 _Varric and his bloody winks._ "Yes, and before you say anything further, drink some of it. You'll have to finish it all for it to clear the poison from your system completely. Maybe even more." The nervous energy pulsing through her had her lips moving faster than lightning. "And then we'll get a mage to check your vital organs for damage, although where we can find one with any skill in this town, I don't know." She shot him an annoyed look. "Come on. Drink it already!"

"And you're sure it's safe?"

"Are you kidding? Maker's balls, Bran, just do as I say. I'm saving your life, damn it!"

"Rescuing friends from near death is one habit of yours that I _don't_ mind." He took a sip and his lips twisted in disgust. "That is _the_ most putrid thing I've ever tasted." Instantly, the slightest of pinkness rose to his cheeks.

"I can see a bit of an effect already. Thank the Maker," she said again. "Have some more. You'll have to drink plenty of water too, to flush your system. At least ten cups a day, more if you can," she prattled. "I'll just have to make sure you do. I can't believe no one was able to diagnose poisoning! That doesn't say much for the safety of anyone in this town! And what if Lord Walter were poisoned? Maker, can you imagine?"

"Why did you come to Markham?" he blurted when she took a breath. "I need to know." His amber eyes, so dull earlier, now revealed a glimmer of revitalized energy as he waited for an answer.

… _you freed me, Bran, you freed my darkest desires, and made me feel whole._

"Well, I… I've made a mess of things over the years, and you cared enough to help me straighten it all out. I suppose I'm returning the favor."

"And there's no more to it than that? Tell me, have you gone to Starkhaven to help Vael yet?"

"No, but I had planned to go after seeing you. I mean I… I've sent word to Sebastian of my intentions to travel there."

"I see. Well, thank you for confirming my suspicions." He his teeth clenched so hard she heard it.

"Suspicions? I came with only good intentions!" A knock sounded on the door. "Must be my food. Don't go anywhere," she ordered with a pointed finger.

"And how exactly would I leave with you blocking the door?"

"A figure of speech, jerk." She stuck a hand out and grabbed the food. "I'll pay later. Bring the other platter to Varric Tethras two doors down." And then she slammed the door behind her. Anxiously, she tore a piece of bread from the loaf and held it out. "Eat this. Right now, Bran."

"Demanding wench," came from his lips in a low growl, already slipping into a conversational ease reminiscent of their past. And she didn't seem to care. _Good_ , he thought. "Answer my questions… honestly. And maybe I'll let you ask me some too." Savoring the fresh bread, he smirked even as he chewed.

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Aren't we a little old for these childish games, Bran?" Then she ripped off some bread for herself and popped it into her mouth.

"Are you afraid of my questions, or your answers?"

"I'm _afraid_ I may regret this entire conversation." Her hands went to her hips defiantly. "Drink some more of the antidote first."

"Ugh, but it's so awful." Bran shivered as the liquid went down his throat.

"Don't be such a baby." She handed him a mug full of water, pinning him with a 'drink this or else' glare. He drank, and she shifted uneasily in anticipation of his first question. "I'm waiting."

"Did you come to Markham for political reasons?"

"You don't really believe that, do you?" He shook his head slowly, his eyes lowering for a moment before he looked at her again. "Good thing I came though. How long did you intend to just waste away?"

"I thought I was dying, Fin. And I'd resigned. Lucan was gone, and… I didn't have much to live for anyway."

"Maker Bran, you would have died had I not come!"

"I know that now." As she stared at him, she saw a brief flash of the anguish he must have felt the last few months. "I didn't want to be a burden to anyone, especially you. Death didn't seem so bad at the time."

"I don't believe you _wanted_ to die. You wrote me back the first time, and you had to know that second letter would upset me," she said, slowly piecing together his strategy.

"I never thought it would compel you to seek me out. In hindsight, sending it was probably a mistake."

"So it wasn't a test? You weren't _testing_ me to see if I would come to you?"

"Not consciously, no, and I knew Vael would never have allowed it anyway."

"Sebastian does _not_ have that kind of power over me," she sneered.

"No? How have things been with him these last months?" he taunted. "Have you shared a bed with him, slept with him every night, whispering words of devotion afterwards?"

"We've barely spent _any_ time alone. He's been gone almost as long as you've been in Markham." Apparently, jealousy was not beneath her either. "I've been to the tavern, you know, spoken with certain people there. I know _everything_." She bit her lip as one question burned to roll off her tongue. "How many times did you sleep with that, that," _whore_ she wanted to say, but instead said, "that musician, Magda?"

An arrow to his heart would have been less painful than seeing the resentment in her eyes as she looked at him. "Can you rephrase that into a yes or no question please?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood and perhaps ease his conscience.

" _What_?" Her teeth clenched. " _Fine_! Did you sleep with _that bitch_ more times than you can count?"

"Yes," he whispered, his eyes watering a bit. Then he cleared his throat. "It meant nothing to me… _she_ means nothing to me."

"So you don't love her then?" she asked, her words rushing out.

He noticed a slight pull at the corner of her mouth as her eyes widened. _Almost a smile._ _She's coming around_. "Of course not. And I believe she may have been in cahoots with Colin."

"I agree," she nodded casually. "We really should take care of them soon." She waited for him to concur, but he shifted topics unexpectedly.

"Do you love him, Finola?" The seriousness in his tone, the urgency mingled with dread, was almost heartbreaking. "Are you _truly_ in love with Vael?"

 _Am I?_ As she watched more color bloom on Bran's skin, she questioned her heart, and her sanity. Why _did_ she travel to Markham? To see him? To save him? To convince him to go back to Kirkwall and help her? She was concerned for Bran, just as she was for Sebastian, but she never actually thought to go to Sebastian no matter how much danger he faced on the road to Starkhaven. Was the worry she felt for Sebastian simply founded in their long friendship?

Moreover, if one of them died, whose death would be a devastating event that brought her profound heartache? Did she love either one of them more than life itself?

"Well?" Bran's voice brought her back the room, back to him. "Surely you must know the answer by now."

"I don't… I… Bran, I …" she stammered wide-eyed. "I don't think I am, no… I'm not in love with him." Then she just stared at Bran, reexamining her newfound certainty and she could not fault it. Her anxiety began to wane, her expression softening as she gazed at him. The truth was gradually, happily setting her free at long last.

He took a step closer. "Do you love me?"

"It's… It's complicated," she said awkwardly. "I've always loved you as a friend…." Her mouth gaped open, wanting to say more, trying to put her feelings into words.

"Andraste's ass, but you're indecisive! One week it's Vael, the week after, it's some templar!"

"No! It's not like that! I've never lied to you, Bran. Not consciously."

"And yet you've lied to Vael, deliberately, and on many occasions," he spat. "Why is that?"

The more he pushed, the more she unraveled. "I thought I wanted a life with him in Starkhaven, the kind of life I thought I _deserved_ to have! I sought it for _so_ long." The tears stung her eyes as thoughts of her past struggles to survive became more vivid in her mind. "You don't know what it's been like, Bran. I had scrambled for years to make ends meet, to put food on the table, to protect my family, my friends. I did things, Bran, I did horrible things _every day_ , be it killing, or stealing, or lying, whatever it took. I never wanted anyone I've loved to go without if I could help it. So I aided Sebastian any way I could, knowing that if I were viscountess it would guarantee he regained his rightful title. Is that so wrong?"

"No, it isn't. You're a survivor, Fin. Your… actions have helped many of us out of complicated situations and I can't fault you for that." The tension between them had turned raw, and Bran's resolve started to crack. "But you claimed to be in love with him for years, Fin. Y _ears_! And _that_ I cannot forget!"

Her pulse thundering in her ears, she struggled to focus. "It was a… an unhealthy obsession. I do love Sebastian, but that love is purely platonic. It's nothing like what I feel for you!"

Candid words, but he was still not convinced of the depth of her feelings for him. "And what exactly do you feel for me?" He turned away for a moment, afraid he had been wrong. She moved her hand to his chin and gently turned his head to face her.

"When I think about everything we've shared, how I felt with you in Kirkwall, especially those last days _before_ I spoke with Sebastian... All the emotion, the excitement and happiness, the _peace_ I felt when we were together… It all disappeared when you left." She took a breath and gazed into his eyes. "You set me free, to see if I'd come back to you. And then you came here wondering if had, am I right?"

"My first thought was that you needed a seneschal to do your job while you were off gallivanting in Starkhaven." Her expression went blank, and he lifted an eyebrow. "I'm just being honest. That's why I thought you came to Markham when I saw you in the courtyard."

Finola swallowed the indignation rising in her throat. "My concern for you is the _only_ reason I'm here right now. Are you being deliberately obtuse?"

"But you're still betrothed to Vael, are you not?"

"That's irrelevant! What _is_ relevant is the fact that I am _here,_ with _you_ now. I'd lost sight of what mattered most, convinced myself that I would be the kind of wife he needed, but that is simply not true. I thought I could be happy with him, and maybe I could have, if you hadn't come into my life as you did. I've no doubt he loves me, but I am not the woman he thinks I am."

"Then who have you been all these years, Finola?"

"I think I was just a woman looking for someone to change her life, a miracle I suppose. But you were already there, changing it the entire time. My mother always said that love takes over your thoughts, your actions, your whole life. I didn't realize I felt that way with you, until today. I don't know why I didn't see it sooner. Maybe I did. Maybe I was afraid." She took his hands in hers and placed them against her heart. "But I'm not afraid any longer."

A gentle touch wiped the tears from her face and he cupped her cheek. "Don't tell me what you think I need to hear. Tell me what your _heart_ is saying."

Looking at him now, she imagined if she hadn't come to Markham, if he had died and she never had the opportunity to say what was in her heart. The last time death had threatened those she loved, she'd been powerless to save them, never able to say she loved them just one more time. Her father, her brother, her mother, and even Anders. This time she could not stand by and let anything steal her destiny from her. Total conviction filled her and she calmed, staying in control and focused.

"I can't deny it anymore, Bran. Nothing filled the void in my heart your leaving caused, not Sebastian, not rebuilding Kirkwall, not the money. When I saw you in the courtyard and now here," she whimpered as her sobs grew and the tears fell. "I want to be _yours_ , heart and soul. I _need_ you. I need you as I need air to breathe."

"And if I open my heart to you again, and you change your mind…."

"I've never felt this way before, Bran, so desperate and scared to lose someone I care for more than anything. You have to believe what I say is true."

"Then say it. I need to hear the words from your lips."

"I'm… I'm so overwhelmed," she acknowledged with nervous excitement as she saw the uncertainty in his eyes. Her smile deepened, allowing her devotion to show. "I love you, Bran. I love _you_. I truly do."

"And you're sure? Beyond all doubt?"

Finola drew in a deep breath and then let it out. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." Finola lifted a hand to his cheek. "I want to spend the rest of my days with you, Maker willing, and I will never hurt you again, ever." She watched as his expression changed, his confidence returning, and his smile grew and reached his eyes for the first time since he'd walked through the door. "I'm glad your plan worked."

He laughed at that. "My initial plan only involved having some time apart so that you might see things differently. If you hadn't written me, I would not have pursued you any further. The poisoning was an unfortunate consequence of my ennui. Clearly, I was not paying close enough attention to the snakes in my office."

"But your letter was so _final_. Did you really think I cared so little?"

"I was alone, missing you, depressed. I was sure I was dying and I thought you would respect my wishes. But you're insolent and stubborn and did what you wanted anyway."

"And I'm glad I did," she said with a smile, then placed her hands on his cheeks and drew him closer. "Whatever you want of me, I will give to you. Just say the word."

He stared into her eyes, his heart unfurling, letting her back in once again. "I want your love, Finola, and nothing more."

She pulled back, her knees weakening at his declaration. "My love?" she asked, almost a whisper. "Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

A warm smile spread over her lips. "Then you shall have it, all of it."

Bran leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, whispering. "Have I mentioned that I love you too?"

"Not lately, no." He found her lips again and answered further with a kiss, long and fierce, and she responded in kind, clinging to his caresses, clinging to the moment. Clinging to him.

When their lips parted, he sighed. "I love you, Finola Hawke. And if you want me to say it a thousand times, I will… provided you say you'll marry me."

 _Yes, yes! I will._ Finola heard the words in her head, tasted them on her lips, and for the first time, truly felt them in her heart. "I will, Bran. I will marry you."

Wide-eyed, his brows rose in shock. "You will?" He drew a deep breath, and held it.

"Of course I will." She covered her mouth with her hand, suppressing a giggle. "You look so… cute right now." Immediately, he looked appalled, and she couldn't help but laugh aloud. "Oh Bran, you don't know how long I've been dying to say that!"

" _Cute_? Really? Not… dashing, or sexy, or even handsome? But _cute_? Like… _a chipmunk_?" The urge to vomit mingled with an urge to toss her onto the bed and have his way with her, but her laugh was infectious, and he began to chuckle also.

"Don't worry, I'll never say it in public," she promised.

"You may very well be the death of me yet." Her giggling continued, and it was then he realized what a lucky man he truly was. He reached out and stroked her cheek, and then slid his hand to the nape of her neck, pulling her in for a tender kiss. "I never dreamed I'd love you as I do. I don't think I could be happier than I am at this very moment."

"I'm just sorry you had to go through these last months alone," she whispered into his ear.

He looked at her, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter now."

"It does though." She tensed, and he felt the agitation rising in her. "And when I get proof of what Colin did, I'll slice his throat open. Magda's too," she hissed.

" _Your Excellency_ ," he said calmly, taking hold of her shoulders. "I am humbled by your need to seek vengeance, but you have a much larger role to play in this world. And just to be clear, _assassin_ is not that role."

"They _must_ pay for what they've done to you. I won't tell you anything of what I've found, or about my swift form of justice," she said as her hand slashed through the air. "You'll never be implicated."

"Finola, no. Let it go. If I can, surely you can too. I'm thinking of our future, and as your seneschal, I am advising you to forget retaliation."

"I didn't realize I'd hired you back already," she said with a smirk. "Look, I'll consider what you've said, but I'll make no promises just yet." Her eyes shifted in thought. "What if I get the proof and give it Lord Walter? He told me he wanted to know if I found out the truth."

"And fact finding would entail what?" he asked, suddenly feeling uneasy about her obvious determination. "Sneaking into their homes and searching their unmentionables drawers? Please, Fin. It's not worth it."

She sighed. "Let's change the topic for now. Here, drink some more. Your color has really improved." She watched as he drank, and then his eyes went far away. "Bran? Are you okay, Bran?" He looked at her, smiling, and she blew out the breath she was holding.

"Am I dreaming this?"

In answer, she slipped her hands around his waist and kissed him hungrily, rapt in his embrace.

Desire flowed strongly through them, a powerful and blistering force, and the passion that shot through him was so intense, so deep, he had to pull back to make sure she was indeed real and not an illusion. "You did say you'd marry me, didn't you?"

Her smile was beyond ecstatic as she looked into his eyes. "Finola Hawke Wyndham. Do you think it has a nice ring to it?"

"I do, my beautiful tigress." She laughed at the epithet, a sharp and silly cackle. "What? Is that endearment now passé?"

"Maker, no! No. Promise you'll never stop calling me that," she whispered. "Just remind me to tell you a funny story later." He nodded with a quizzical look on his face. "How do your muscles and joints feel? Are you able to move freely, without discomfort now?"

"Why do you ask?" He tilted his head. "Should I be exercising?"

"Well, there is one _particular_ form of exercise I recommend…."

He moved his lips to hers and kissed her, gently first, then more fervently. When he straightened, the heat between them urged her to unbutton his shirt as his hands roamed along her hips.

"I need to feel you, Bran, please," she begged. His eyes only left hers briefly as he pulled off her shirt and tossed it aside. His hands traced up and covered her breasts as he massaged her, pinching her peaks between his fingers. She gasped, her chest heaving a bit, and with eyes half-lidded, she fell deeper into the passion, feeling the tingles of desire from her head to her toes. Fingertips danced to her waist and pushed down her pants and smalls at once, and she kicked them aside, the warmth from the fire keeping the chill away from her exposed skin.

He gripped a handful of her hair, pulling with just enough force to move her head back. _"Maker,_ I've missed this, Finola, I've missed _you_." His eyes skimmed along her body from her neck down past her knees, drinking in the view. For a minute, all he did was marvel at her, admiring every swell and cleft, and she eyed him curiously. She wondered if he had forgotten the curve of her hips or the way a flush would creep from her breasts to her neck as he touched her. When he finally looked at her face, he instantly knew why she wore the peculiar look. "I haven't forgotten _any_ part of your luscious body, my dear. I'm simply admiring what I've longed for these past months."

"Oh," she whispered, tracing his jaw, and then his lips.

"I want you, Fin. I want to watch you writhing in my arms. I want to see you naked, spread beneath me." He felt the shiver that raced through her, her eyes locked on his. "Tell me what you want, Finola," he growled.

"I want you… and _only_ you."

She began to undress him then, her hands sliding along his skin, and she anxiously removed his shirt to trail her fingers from his stomach up to his shoulders and down his arms. A few healthy meals were all he needed to get back to his former self. But what lay beneath his unlaced breeches remained the same, and she pushed them to the floor before they both collapsed onto the bed.

"I thought only in my dreams were we to be this way again," he whispered as he tucked some stray hairs behind her ear.

"Bran, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you or-"

"Shh. No more apologies. We've both done things we regret, but now we can start over, start a new life, together."

 _Together._ Her breath caught and tears sprang from her eyes. "Yes. Together."

He looked at her face, lightly flushed with desire, and he forgot to breathe as sheer need came over him, the need to be inside her, to claim her as his. She moaned when his teeth grazed over her neck and shoulder, and then he took her lips in a searing kiss. Every sensation seemed new, overloading her senses, thrilling her. His hand reached down to stroke her, and his caresses grew firmer, more deliberate, and she willingly spread her thighs when he thrust his fingers into her as her hips bucked against his hand, and she stretched further, inviting him to join with her.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured.

"Flatterer," she whispered as he touched her lips with his. "Make love to me, Bran. Make love to me like it's our first time."

Slowly and deliberately, he drove his full length into her and she trembled beneath him. He stayed there, completely buried in her, feeling the contractions of her skin on his. It was familiar, yet different, and he looked at her face as she smiled below him, a smile beckoning for a kiss.

Again and again, their lips met as he thrust inside her. With her eyes holding his, she was barely able to speak, her tears intermingling with his, neither one wanting to separate from the other, lost in each other's embrace. He kissed her tears away and pressed his lips to her cheek tenderly and she buried her head in his neck, planting kisses, relishing their closeness.

Her breathing was ragged, breathy moans and sighs he knew so well. He withdrew, then thrust again, slowly, fully. "Finola, look at me."

Her eyes met his, full of desire, and love.

Bran felt his own breath hitch. "I will never forget how it feels to be inside you. So right, like paradise found... Perfect, just like you."

"It is," she nodded, tears streaming more quickly now. He kissed her tenderly, keeping his thrusts slow and rhythmic, trying not to rush the reunion he had dreamt of for months.

When she reached her peak, it was explosive, a shattering cry of release, his name the only intelligible word falling from her lips. She clenched around him, bringing him to the edge, and then he followed her over, burying his cry in her neck.

When they finally admitted defeat, he rolled off to her side grinning, his arm draped across her stomach. She cuddled closer to him, wrapping her leg around his, her breathing slowing as she felt the pull of fatigue.

An hour of quiet dozing passed with soft murmurs and sated kisses, only the rustling of sheets breaking the stillness within the room.

"Say it again, Fin."

"Bran Wyndham, I love you. I will _always_ love you."

"And I you."

She was already floating, pleasured down to her toes, but he intended to pleasure her some more. With a burst of energy, he rolled atop her and roughly pushed her thighs apart with his knees, cradling her in his arms and sinking into her. He saw her lids falling as she breathed a soft sigh, and he shifted, pressing deeper, and filling her completely.

"You have my heart, Finola. I know it's safe in your keeping now."

She slid her hands up, framing his face so he could see her reaction, blissful tears set free as her cheeks lifted in a smile. She couldn't breathe, but she didn't care. All she cared about was the emotion that held them, that flowed so naturally between them. "All I ask is that you love me for who I am."

"You know I do." He felt it too, sensed it, and locked his arms around her tightly.

It was a promise, as much a commitment as any marriage vow, and she finally understood what she had been reaching for, what was always just out of her grasp. It wasn't an impressive title or obscene amounts of coin, or even a prince. It was the sweeping sense of connection, the meeting of mind, heart, and soul that made her pulse race when Bran was near. She felt complete, whole once again.

And it would change the course of her life forever.


	12. It's Later than You Think

The first rays of daylight streamed through the only window in the room, beaming directly into Finola's eyes. Her face scrunched up and she rolled over, thrashing about irritably. "Maker, that's almost blinding. And for the love of Andraste, move your ass over, Bran!"

After she gave him a shove, he groaned his displeasure. "Good morning, my grouchy tigress." As always, her rosy scent wafted by his nose and he wondered how it never seemed to fade. Smiling at the thought, he nuzzled into her neck, sucking on her skin for a moment before releasing it with a 'pop'. "I'd almost forgotten what a pleasant experience waking up next to you can be when you haven't had enough rest."

An elbow to his ribs came with a steely glare. "Kiss my ass."

"Roll over."

"Oh really? I _dare_ you, Bran Wyndham."

"Perhaps, if you ask nicely."

"Not a chance then," she said with a cheeky grin, and then stuck out her tongue.

"That tongue can be put to better use elsewhere, my dear." He stifled a yawn and found his lips turning up in amusement. The combined result was a grunt akin to that of a snoring dog, and Bran was immediately mortified by the sound.

Finola's smile was accompanied by a sharp jab of her finger to his chest. "Good. Is it humbling to know you're not so perfect, Serah High and Mighty?"

"No, but thankfully you are perfect, my sweet, compassionate little lady." He rolled his eyes. "I hate to bring this up given you current mood, but what now? Have you awoken with a plan?"

"No real plan yet. We'll need to go back to Kirkwall, get you back to work." She reached over and stroked his cheek. "And get you settled into _our_ home."

He smiled. "I don't have much to bring back there anyway. Just some personal effects at my house."

"Good. One of the mercs will act as your bodyguard, just in case. And while you're doing that, I'm going to speak to Lord Walter briefly, just to secure a relationship. You never know when we'll need him."

"A practical move. I can come along if you like."

"No, no," she spoke up quickly. "We need to leave quickly. I'll meet you at your house after I meet him." She inched towards Bran, running her fingers along his shoulder. "You ride well, don't you? We've got horses at the stables so we should make good time getting back to Kirkwall."

"This might not be as miserable a trip as I'd thought." He smiled and gave her a light kiss on the tip of her nose.

"You know, I'll have to go to Starkhaven and tell Sebastian about this… about us. I owe him that much," she asserted, but surprisingly, he nodded in agreement.

"I understand, Fin. It's the decent thing to do. However, you will not go without a small army of your own to keep you safe... and me, of course."

"Oh no, you are not going to Starkhaven with me." She perched herself on her elbows and glared at him. "Are you insane? Sebastian will put your head on a pike! And I have no interest in defending you against him. That could get ugly very fast."

Equally annoyed, he sat up and leaned against the headboard, folding his arms over his chest. "This is one time where I refuse to give in to your foolish inclinations, Fin. I'm going and that's final."

"No it isn't! Just what do you think it will accomplish? I will go alone, tell him everything, and then leave. He won't harm me."

"I'm not going to argue with you now. But just know that I will be going and there is nothing you can do to change that fact."

"We'll see." She smirked and raised her hand to run a finger along his jaw, leaning in to kiss him. "I have a question for you, of a personal nature. Do you mind?"

"I have nothing to hide from you." His brows narrowed and he squinted for a moment. "Ask me anything."

"Magda said you had told her I was your wife who had died. When I heard that, I," she paused, swallowing hard, "well, first I felt sick to my stomach, and angry with myself, but when that passed, I wondered about Calista."

"You don't have to do this," he said. "She is my past, but _you_ are my future."

"Are you uncomfortable speaking of her?"

"No, no. Lucan and I had talked about her briefly. He'd had some questions about the mother he never knew."

She saw his unease as he spoke of Calista. "Bran, I won't be offended by anything you say about her."

"I know," he nodded. "He looks likes her, has her passion, her love for all things wild and free." Bran sighed. "It had been a long time since I really spoke of her, but it was nice to reminisce with Lucan. Anyway, just remember, you and she are nothing alike."

Finola cracked her knuckles and then held tight to her forefinger. "Do you have a favorite memory of your time with her?"

"Are you really interested in this?" She nodded and intertwined her fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze. Bran gazed off toward the hearth. "I remember the day I was arguing with Dumar about sending funds to Ferelden. Calista floated into the office like a butterfly on a breeze. Dumar sensed she wanted to speak with me privately and I took her to my office. She closed the door and practically tackled me to the ground with a hug," he laughed. "Then she took my hand, placed it on her stomach, and said 'Do you know what's in here?' Of course, I thought she was going to tell me about her lunch, as she often did," he chuckled again. "But she said 'Your son grows inside me. He'll be here by Springtide." He smiled warmly, a hint of sadness in his gaze.

"Oh, Bran. That must have been one of the happiest days of your life."

He looked at her, brushing a stray hair from her eyes. "One of them, yes. Little did I know what it took to care for an infant. Maker, I'm glad I don't have to go through that again."

"Oh? But what if… I mean it's possible… ah, forget it. I'm older now, and the chances of that happening are slim probably."

"I didn't think you had any interest in children, Fin. Would you want a child of your own?"

"No. Well… I don't know." Ruffling his hair idly, Finola gazed into his eyes. "I love you and I _would_ want a child of yours. That's what married couples are supposed to do. But that would put a serious cramp in my style, right? Our style?"

"Children are an amazing gift, Fin, and you'd be a wonderful mother, I know that. I honestly would be happy to have a child with you, but…." He took a deep breath, treading carefully on the topic. "I've got a quite few years on you. I just wonder how an older man can be a dependable father, a father who will live long enough to see his child grow into an adult."

"Bran Wyndham, you are _not_ an old man. Besides, you don't look your age at all." Finola's heart fluttered at the thought of Bran dying before her. She snuggled closer, trailing her fingertips down his chest to rest on his stomach. She was comfortable and relaxed in his arms and wouldn't ruin the moment with _those_ kinds of thoughts. "We can talk about children another time. What I really want to know is if you have discovered the secret to eternal youth? Or is there some kind of blood magic I don't know about yet?"

"There are several ways to keep young in spirit as well as body. Shall I demonstrate?"

"You're changing the subject," she sang. "Although… I _have_ awoken with a certain _need_." She reached down to stroke him, smiling at his obvious arousal. "And I think you'll agree that we should always take care of each other's _needs_."

"Ah Finola, the things I want to do to you… they are utterly immoral."

"Mmm, do tell." Just as her tongue made it past his lips, a thunderous knock on the door made them both jump.

"Up and at 'em, Hawke!"

"Varric," she whispered to Bran. "Go away!"

"We've got get a move on. Let me in, Hawke!"

"So much for depravity," she sighed, kissing Bran once more before throwing off the bed sheet. "All _right_! I'm _coming_!" She slipped from the bed mumbling curses and tossed on Bran's shirt, glad to see it was long enough to cover the most important parts of her bareness.

As the door opened, Varric grinned from ear to ear. "And a good morning to you, Hawke." He peered around her and nodded to Bran who was still lounging in bed. "You look better, Bran."

"I owe you my thanks, Varric. Actually, I owe you more than thanks. You saved my life, and for that, I am eternally indebted."

"She dragged me here. If it wasn't for Hawke's worries over you, you'd probably be dead. Thank her."

"Come on Varric, just say 'you're welcome' for once. You did have the one main ingredient we were lacking in."

"All right, all right." Varric glanced at Bran for a second. "You're welcome. So Hawke, we should really get out of this town, and soon."

"I agree. Oh shit! I need to write to Sebastian and tell him of my delay." She grabbed a parchment from her pack and quickly scribbled the note." Do you think I can trust the mercs to deliver it?"

"Well, I can tell you that _I_ certainly won't deliver it. I value my life too much. Yeah, Sudz will do it, for the right price."

Handing the letter to Varric, she looked at Bran, glad to see him resting idly and not interfering. "Give him whatever he needs." She handed the note to Varric. "Does it sound all right?"

 _13 Drakonis_

 _Dear Sebastian,_

 _By now, you are expecting my arrival, but I'm sorry to report that I've had to postpone my trip because of some urgent matters. I should be able to leave sometime in the next few weeks, perhaps by the end of Cloudreach. I'm truly sorry for the delay._

 _Word travels to Kirkwall quickly and I hear you are quite popular with the people of Starkhaven. I knew they would love you, Sebastian._

 _Stay safe._

 _As always,_

 _Finola_

"Short and sweet. Although, he may wonder why you're being so… cool."

"I can't purposely put into words what I don't feel, Varric. I can't lie to him anymore."

Varric nodded, somewhat surprised by her honesty. But then again, she had chosen Bran. Maybe she _was_ finally changing her ways. "I see you're taking a few extra weeks before departing to get reacquainted with your duties." He wiggled his eyebrows, and then stepped back, wondering if she might playfully hit him as she had in the past.

Instead, her eyes went soft, almost tearful. "Thanks, Varric, for everything." Finola swore she saw Varric's cheeks redden. She straightened up, sensing his unease with her sudden emotion. "Any interest in going to Starkhaven with me then?"

"In other words, you want me to save your ass from Choir Boy's wrath. Yeah, I'll go. But you're going to put me on your tab at the Hanged Man for a year!"

"Deal. We'll meet you at the stables in say, two hours."

* * *

Eight days later, they arrived in Kirkwall under cover of night. When Finola and Bran entered her house, Bodahn immediately accosted her and handed her several letters.

"Bran will be staying here from now on, Bodahn. And I'm reminding you of discretion in this matter."

"Of course, messere. I'll have a bath drawn up right away."

Finola nodded as Bodahn walked away, and then suddenly felt Bran's breath on her neck, his tongue leaving a hot trail as he traced up to nibble on her ear. "Can't we settle in first? You need a bath, as do I."

"I suppose." She grinned at his long-suffering sigh. "It's been over a week and I want you, my tigress."

"Maker, I couldn't agree more." She drew a deep breath and turned. Looking into his eyes, she set aside all thoughts of cleanliness for a moment and locked her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself to him. "Kiss me."

Their lips met hungrily and his hands reached for her backside, pulling her closer, urging her hips nearer. "A _quick_ bath or I _will_ take you right here, filth and all." Smiling, she grabbed his hand and they bounded up the stairs together.

While waiting for the last pails of water to be poured into the tub, Finola sat at her desk reading some correspondence when Bran heard a loud sigh. "What's wrong, Fin?"

"In the spirit of full disclosure, I'm showing you this." She handed him the letter and turned to wipe a stray tear from of her eye.

 _8 Drakonis_

 _My dearest Finola,_

 _I'm writing to tell you how much I miss you. I have been so busy, barely able to sleep with the many tasks at hand. The people here have been gracious, but there is much rebuilding and planning to do yet. The grain crops are abysmal and I've had to send workers to Tantervale to obtain more seed. Thankfully, the Minanter River is brimming with fresh fish. I wish you were here, my love. Nothing seems the same without you by my side, as you have always been._

 _I've no time for a letter of length, but know that you are here in my thoughts and dreams every moment. I love you, Finola. Always._

 _Ever yours,_

 _Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven_

 _P.S. There is someone special you will meet when you finally come to Starkhaven. It will be quite a surprise._

Bran clenched his empty fist and placed the letter on her desk. As she looked up at him, he wore an unreadable expression. "Hear me now, Fin. I insist I travel with you to Starkhaven. He will be… brokenhearted. And a man with that kind of grief can be a danger. Trust me, I know."

"Am I sensing something akin to sympathy on your part? _That's_ shocking."

"You expected what? Jealousy perhaps? You and I are together, and that will never change." Bran took her hand and felt a slight tremble. "How can I not feel a little sympathy for the poor fool? Don't get me wrong. I have no love for the man, but I do fear for your safety. What about his friends? That elf and the so-called pirate will certainly side with him."

"They won't take up arms against me, Bran! Do you think they're a bunch of wildlings fighting for land rights? I'll be fine."

Finola rose and closed the door after Orana poured the last pail of steaming water into the bathtub. Sparing a glance at Bran, who was still a bit peeved, she stripped out of her underclothes and stepped into the tub. Sitting down, she allowed the water to soak away the dust from their travels as she closed her eyes to relax. Soft sighs came from her lips, and when she opened her eyes, Bran was hovering above the tub, staring down at her. "Avert your eyes, cad! You're _leering_ at me."

"I am in fact leering at your nakedness," he grinned, "and I'll not look away under any condition." He sat on a chair beside her and poured some hot water over her head. "Hand me that soap and I'll wash your hair." Finola tossed the soap in the air and watched as he fumbled to catch the slippery bar. Once secured in his hand, he began to lather up her hair, albeit with a grunt of annoyance. "It's a wonder anyone has patience with you. You're like a child sometimes." Her small grin of delight was not unnoticed.

After scrubbing her scalp and hair, he dumped a bowlful of water on her head, letting some stream down her face. She didn't mind though. The water was incredibly soothing; she wouldn't have cared if an army was marching though her room.

"Mmmm... Massage. Now." She shook her shoulders to punctuate her request.

"And just who do you think you're speaking to? I'm not one of your lackeys!" he said with a phony scowl.

"But you _claim_ to be in love with me. If you really were, you would not hesitate," she teased with a full-blown pout.

His hands flew to her face and pulled her to him, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers. "My love for you is no joke, Fin. You know I hate when you say things like that." For a moment, the strength of his grip scared her, but in his eyes, she saw nothing but adoration. Silently, she berated herself. Their relationship was still somewhat new and untested, and obviously, Bran still harbored unspoken worries about it.

"I was only kidding, Bran." She took his hands and hugged them to her chest. "I'm sorry."

He blew out a frustrated breath. "Forgiven… _This_ time." He was clearly bothered, and a part of him wondered if she still wasn't sure of his love for her. _I'll have to work on that_ , he thought _._ And what better way to reassure her than to respond to her request. His strong fingers began to knead away the tension in her muscles, his fingertips hitting all the right pressure points. "When I seek payback, it will be sublime, tigress."

"Uh huh," she said, not quite listening to him.

A few more rubs at the back of her neck had her slouching wearily, so he splashed her face, and then laughed at her angry glare. "You're clean. Out now, before the water gets too cold and makes it difficult for me to have my way with you."

She chuckled as she stepped out and let him wrap a towel around her. "Yes, shrinkage would be bad," she giggled. After drying off, she threw herself onto her bed, _their_ bed now she thought, and then spread herself out amongst the pillows. "Hurry up!"

Bran got into the tub and scrubbed himself, making sure not to miss any patches of skin or hair. Normally, he would linger in the tub, and maybe even doze off, but not this time. Finola was even surprised at the speed of his bath. He leapt out of the water, dried off and dove onto the cushy bed.

"Come here," he growled as he snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

He held her tight, his body tense with longing, and she gave in, assaulting him, crushing her lips to his, her tongue seeking satisfaction. She clawed at his back and moaned, a deep sound from her throat. He responded in kind, grabbing her backside as his hips ground into hers. His arousal poked her and she reached down between their bodies to stroke him. When his breath caught in his throat, he grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss her fingers tenderly.

"You are as lustful as I am tonight, my tigress."

"As you said, it's been too long."

"What exactly are you interested in this evening? A little game perhaps?"

"Hmm, maybe. I could be… a wayward damsel guilty of some offense, _serah_." The feigned pout of remorse on her lips was more than enticing, and he pulled her closer at once.

"Admit your crime so I can make certain the punishment is fitting," he said lightheartedly while nibbling her ear.

"I will _never_ confess," she breathed.

"No?" An eyebrow rose at that. "Then I shall have to beat it out of you."

"Mmm, that sounds… agonizingly divine. Shall I lay prostrate before you on the bed? Or would you like to put me over your knees?"

"My but you're a saucy girl tonight. I want you close… Over my knees, ass in the air. A little roughness and then I will ravish you like the goddess you are."

"Only a little?" she asked sheepishly. There was something in her eyes, something needy and wicked, and a thrilling lance of desire shot through him. But there was also something a bit disturbing in her gaze, almost an embarrassed plea for discipline.

"More?" he asked skeptically. Her cheeks reddened and she nodded, dropping her eyes to her lap. Immediately, he worried that she felt guilty for her previous treatment of him, or maybe even her future treatment of Sebastian. "You _want_ me to hurt you?"

She shivered, her head bowing again, eyes aimed at the floor. "Yes," she whispered.

"If this is about any responsibility you feel for the last few months, then forget-"

"No! No, it's just… please, do as I ask. When you're in charge, taking pleasure in it, you are… amazing. It makes me quite randy, Bran."

"Are you sure, Fin? Absolutely sure?"

"Yes, I want to be… submissive. You remember that one night. I need to be, it's… it's freeing in its own way. Please?"

He nodded, thinking back to their first few encounters in bed. She had seemed to like it then, seemed to need it. He growled, rolling her onto her back and pinning her arms. "If you wish, my dear. What is the word you'd like to use then?"

"How about… cute," she said, and her eyebrows rose with a puckish grin. His wry yet feral smile made her back straighten and her heart race.

"Ah. That is more than enough to make me want to spank you, and enjoy doing so." He grabbed her wrists and pulled her forward, his lips on her mouth. "Lay across my lap, you naughty girl," he ordered with a tone that made her heart flutter.

She moved to do as commanded and he helped her along, flipping her over his knees and then giving her a sharp slap on her backside. She winced slightly and wriggled herself into position, then peered up to stare into his eyes awaiting instruction.

"Good girl," he praised, and she shuddered as the warmth of his hand caressed her backside. He brought his hand up and then back down quickly with a loud crack, and she jerked forward, her breath hissing through her teeth.

"Oh Bran, I feel like laughing! Why is that?" She did laugh then, finding it almost impossible to keep herself silent.

"That, my dear, is because you are nervous, because you know I'm just warming up. Your giggles will cease soon enough, of that, I am sure."

In fact, her laughing immediately stopped and turned into yelps and cries when he began in earnest. The first few times his hand connected with her flesh, he was restrained, testing the waters to see if she truly wanted this, but he saw the stars in her eyes when she looked up at him, swooning at his control over her as the sting began to spread tingles of desire to her core.

As the slaps became harder, she found it more and more difficult to stay still and quiet. After an intensely painful blow landed, she found herself gasping and squirming to move away from his reach. In response, he pushed her down, the strength of his hand on her back causing her hips to rise a little.

Suddenly then, his hands were holding her head, his fingers buried in her hair. He leaned over her, eye-to-eye so she could feel his warm breath across her face as he held his willing captive. The soft touch of his lips to her lips was pure and intimate, and she gave in, letting it all go, relaxing into his hands, floating.

Minutes slipped by until he pulled his head back, also feeling dizzy and hot with arousal, both of them groaning at the loss of contact. His hand did ache and he secretly wished to move on to more satisfying activities. "All you have to do," he whispered, "is say the word, and I'll pin you to this bed and fuck you blind, tigress."

But she shook her head. "Not yet," she said, falling deeper, the pangs of guilt releasing slowly. His palm curved over her firm cheeks as she panted against his stomach, giggles mixed with sobs in nervous excitement.

She couldn't see him wince when his hand came down hard again, so hard it stung his palm. This time her whole body reacted, shivering, and she squeezed her legs together, trying to relieve her aching arousal. Feeling thrilled, it swallowed her whole, making her forget the past, and the future, if only for a short time.

Wordlessly, he reached between her legs, running a thumb over her pulsing pearl, the sting of her skin making everything seem more intense. Finding her slick from desire, he smiled. She was entirely at his mercy, trusting him with her need, and he reveled in it.

A blush deepened on her cheeks as she realized she was well beyond aroused and she glanced up, not surprised that he was watching her reaction with lustful eyes. "Enjoying the view?" she asked.

"Did I say you could speak?" he growled, his voice low and stern.

"No," she said, and looked down at the floor.

"You are most disobedient, tigress. We shall have to remedy that." He dragged his fingertips over her, feeling the warmth of the rosy skin on her backside. Roughly, he pushed one of her legs to the side and slid his hand back to her inner thighs before plunging his fingers into her. She cried out his name as the sting resonated on her flesh. The feeling of his fingers curling within her, pushing in and pulling out quickly with bruising force, had her moaning incoherently.

"You like this, don't you?" his voice rumbled in her ear. "You are mine, Finola, and mine alone. No one else can make you whimper like this. And you please only me, whenever I tell you to, wherever I tell you."

She nodded, eyes glazed over with wanton lust. "Yes, Bran," she said through a watery smile.

"Do you want me to fuck you now, tigress? Are you worthy?"

"Yes, I am… I want," she panted, "… I want…." Her breathing grew ragged and her focus blurred as her head dropped in surrender, and Bran grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her head back sharply.

"You want what?" He looked at her. "Say it. Tell me exactly what you want."

"I want you… in me… _please_ , Bran."

"Beg me."

"I… _please_ , just… I want you… fucking me… hard. Please!"

With one last painful slap, she whimpered, "… cute," and the blows stopped. She reached back blindly with one hand, any pretense she tried to wear melting away. "…want you," she mumbled, her palm opening, searching for his hand. "Please, Bran… now."

He lifted her to his chest and tenderly wiped the tears from her face as they continued to stream down her cheeks. Her vision was blurry, but still, she could see the love in his eyes and she melted in his arms.

"Spread your legs for me, my lovely Finola. And I'll show you how much _I_ want to be inside you, how much I love you."

The hands that had, minutes ago, been so forceful, were now incredibly tender. Tender enough that she pushed impatiently against them, only to feel the sheets on the bed scrape against her sore bottom. The strange yet pleasurable feeling of the warm sting made it impossible for her to last much longer. The pain was sharp enough that she dug her fingers into the bed, but combined with his hands, the pleasure was so intense that she had to bite her lip to keep from crying loud enough to alert the entire household.

Before she could react, he drove into her with wild abandon. She rocked forward into his grip, and he whispered, "Does it feel good?"

"…Feels incredible."

Bran worked himself in and out, hard and sharp, and for a moment she didn't even recognize the pain until the pleasure hit her all at once. Lights danced in front of her eyes as she moaned, peaking when his lips found hers. She panted into his mouth, "I love you, Bran," as the waves of pleasure swept her away and then back to him. He kissed her lovingly, caught up in his own release.

Spent, Bran fell back, sprawling, and he pulled her over to him, wrapping his arms around her and she rested her head on his chest. "I love you, too," he told her.

"I know you do," she said, smiling. And just like that, all the worries she'd had about Bran discovering what she'd tried so hard to keep hidden came the surface in a burst of tears. "I'm so sorry, Bran… I'm sorry I hurt you…. I never meant for you to leave Kirkwall and you've suffered so much here in Markham, and for years I led you on. I'm so stupid, and-"

"What? No! Do not say that, never apologize again." Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill over. "Please, Fin, this is not how I… you have done _nothing_ wrong."

"I'll never let you go again," she avowed desperately.

"And I'm not letting go either." He squeezed her hand. "But you mustn't fool me into doing something like this. I would _never_ have done it under these conditions."

"It was selfish of me... I didn't really mean to be dishonest. Forgive me."

"Promise me, Finola, promise me you will never seek chastisement this way ever again." She swallowed hard as he gazed into her uncertain eyes. "Swear it, damn you! Or I'll… I'll not speak to you for a week!" She smiled at that, and then he did as well. "All joking aside, I'm serious about this, Fin. That was completely unjustifiable and a bit disturbing. That you wouldn't trust me enough to tell me what you were thinking makes me so damn mad. You know I would never judge you. Promise me now."

"I promise, Bran. I wasn't really thinking, by the way, I was just acting on impulse and… it did make me feel somewhat better, if you can believe that." She palmed his face and kissed him sweetly. "What's wrong with me, Bran? Sometimes I feel like I'm living another person's life, like this is all just a cruel joke and you'll leave me once you know who I truly am or what I want, what I'm capable of, and then you'll hate me."

"You are mistaking me for another man, perhaps. Never be ashamed of what you need or want, not with me. I know you better than you know yourself at times," he said with an edge of concern in his voice."

"You don't think me… depraved or just plain weird?"

"There is _nothing_ wrong with you, Fin. You like the excitement and headiness of a little roughness in your lovemaking and that should never be tempered. Nor should you be ashamed. But the guilt you feel is another thing. Guilt is a wasted emotion, Fin. Clear away that veil of guilt and you'll enjoy what you are experiencing, knowing what your thoughts and actions really mean."

"Speaking from experience?"

He nodded somberly. "I am yours, Finola. Nothing you can _ever_ do or say will change that."

She had almost lost him once because of her impulsivity, and her fears, but she wasn't going to risk losing him again. "I love you," she said, hushed and breathless. "Love _you_ , love your hair, your eyes, and your sarcasm and pompous wit. And I love being like this with you." She kissed him again, demanding and possessive. "No one has ever made me feel so _special_ before, and so normal."

"You are special. Never forget that." His gaze was softer than any she had ever seen before. "What am I going to do with you?"

In answer, she stroked his manhood and then straddled his hips, impaling herself on him eagerly. She still felt the sting on her skin, but with her in control, she knew she could adjust positions to lessen the burn, not that she wanted to. "Right now, I'm going to make love to you, and when that's done-"

Hands flying up to her head, he pulled her face to his and kissed her silent. Then he kissed her quiet every time she opened her mouth to speak, until he began to pant. He looked up at her with those loving, honey-colored eyes and together, they sailed blissfully beyond the walls of their room to a place meant only for entangled lovers.

Several relaxed minutes passed and Bran reached for a vial on a nearby table. "Time to heal you, tigress."

She rolled over with a grin, silently admiring Bran's foresight. "Ouch! Maker, go easy on me."

"You want to do this yourself then?"

"No, just… ach! Don't press so hard."

"Who's whining like a baby now, hm?" The red patches covering her backside were undeserved in his estimation and he tenderly applied the healing salve, smoothing over her skin with feather-light strokes. "Promise me again."

"I promise! Ach!" She shifted slightly, the pain burning her skin, searing like a red-hot poker. "That salve stings, damn it! This better heal fast."

"It will." When he finished, he pressed a light kiss to the one spot on her bottom that had no marks from their sport. "Better?" he asked as he laid his head on the pillow to meet her eyes.

"Yes, but what's even more satisfying is that I've finally gotten you to kiss my ass, Seneschal Bran."

"Oh, you little," he stopped as laughter bubbled up from his throat and came out in peals of chuckles. "You know I truly love you, Finola."

She nodded with a somber look in her eye. "Three short weeks and I'll be off to Starkhaven."

" _We'll_ be off to Starkhaven."

"You bloody stubborn man."

"Pig-headed impulsive woman."

Finola kissed him then, kissed him as if her life depended on it.

* * *

"Ambush!" Finola shouted as she watched their only mage take his last breath, shot down in a hail of arrows.

She spun around, her blades flashing like lightning. Blood splattered the ground and her armor as she cut down the bandits, one after another. The mercenaries cleaved heads from shoulders in a bloody display of strength, and at that moment, Finola was extremely glad she had allowed Bran to hire extra men to accompany the handful of templars Cullen had offered to send on the trip with them. Conveniently, they were sent as a diplomatic envoy at Cullen's suggestion, an offer Finola could not refuse.

Varric crept up alongside her once the general vicinity was clear. "Wasn't expecting that!"

"Neither was I. Can you get to the back and protect Bran in case this happens again?" Varric nodded. "And please don't give him a detailed dramatic story, all right? Keep him back there no matter what. You hear me? No matter what! We're not far from Starkhaven, maybe another thirty minutes or so. Take Bran to an inn and I'll catch up later. Bran and I have already discussed my plans and he's agreed to let me speak with Sebastian alone."

"Will do, boss lady. What if Bran gets antsy?"

"Under no conditions should he be allowed to leave your side. He promised me he'd behave and I believe him. But… well, if things change, knock him out or something. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. The things I do for you… Be careful, Hawke!" Varric sprinted towards the back of the lines, a half-mile away from where Finola led the group.

Blood and body parts lay all around as the last of the bandits went down and Finola surveyed the damage. A mercenary eyed her leathers, noticing a fair amount of blood below her armor. "You're bleeding, Hawke."

The pain in her side was sharp, and she winced as she tried to draw a deep breath. After inspecting the wound, she glared at him. "Nothing major, Jon. Just a flesh wound, all right?" she hissed. He shook his head just before movement to his side caught his eye. Landing a solid blow to the attackers' groin, the last of the assailants bent over in anguish just before Jon's sharp blades disemboweled him.

Finola watched his bloodletting display, but her vision grew hazy, and the grip she held on her blades released as she collapsed to the ground. Jon dashed to her side and immediately pulled a healing potion from his pack, pouring it down her throat. She sputtered a cough, but most of the liquid went down, and then her eyes opened slowly.

"On the horse with you, Hawke. I'll hold onto you, if you don't mind."

"Yes… thanks, Jon… Owe ya." And with that, he hoisted her atop the horse and then mounted himself, holding her close as he kicked the horse's flanks.

"We're only an hour from Vael's, Hawke! And then you'll have a right good healin' from the royal healers!"

Bouncing on the back of the horse in Jon's tight grip, she was semi-conscious but aware of the pain in her chest. Finola had the one person she needed most on her mind. _Please let me live long enough to see him once more._

* * *

Jon lifted Finola off the horse and cradled her in his arms, blood soaked linens wrapped around the armor on her chest. Muffled sounds broke through the pain and she heard Fenris' voice. "Maker, she's lost so much blood. How did this happen?"

"Stop your staring and call for your healers straight away, man!" Jon ordered, his voice rough as he gazed at Finola's pale face. "We were ambushed. She's been slipping in and out of consciousness for that last half hour."

One of her eyes opened to look upon Jon's face, a trembling hand coming up to touch his chest. "Did Varric go… to the inn?" she murmured.

"Aye, and he took the other one too," he whispered with his head close to her ear. "I threw a blanket over ya and he was none the wiser. Told him you were already inside the castle. Don't worry, Hawke, we know the deal."

 _Thank the Maker. "_ Don't let them come. Promise me…." He nodded. "You're a good man, Jon."

"I do my best."

"…better than your best." A pained smile graced her lips before he eyes began to flutter closed again. "Thank… you."

Fenris approached Jon and reached his arms out to take Finola, but Jon held her possessively, glaring at Fenris as he told him to lead the way into the castle.

They walked down a wide cobbled road through the landscaped courtyard abloom with hundreds of flowers, a large fountain flowing in the center. Jon spoke to Finola, describing their surroundings, in hopes she would hear him and stay somewhat conscious. "Now we are almost inside Vael's castle, the River's Mist, some call it. Calling it Vael Castle is boring and hardly lends to scary stories of witches and goblins. It's built of grey stone and set beside the river Minanter. If you breathe deeply, you can you smell the water, Hawke." Jon watched as her eyes opened once, recognition plain in her gaze. She _could_ hear him and that made him smile.

When they finally made their way into the castle proper, Sebastian came at them full speed. Jaw dropping, he muttered something obscene and took her from Jon's arms with a fierce look. He quickly brought her to a lavish, private room with a sweet fragrance reminiscent of incense hanging in the air. The room was adorned with intricate tapestries, but one wall was mostly obscured by floor to ceiling bookshelves. The floor was tiled with grey marble, and on the windows hung lacy white curtains blowing in the mild breeze coming off the river. Jon had never seen anything so elegant and opulent in his life. As he admired the room, Sebastian's shout drew all eyes to the Prince. "Everyone out but the mages!" And so Jon left reluctantly, off to get news of Finola to Varric.

Carefully, Sebastian arranged Finola on the four-poster bed, the blood from her bandages seeping onto the stark white sheets.

A new acquisition for the castle was a grey-haired mage, Dorinda, who immediately sat beside Finola and tended to her injuries. Sebastian had sent envoys to Denerim looking for skilled healers to relocate to Starkhaven. Dorinda had been a well-respected healer for the Chantry, and she jumped at the chance to leave the hustle and bustle of Denerim behind in favor of a simpler life as she got on in years. She had only been at the castle a few days, but Sebastian had confided in this woman he saw as a mother figure, telling her about the love of his life, Finola.

Dorinda's hands hovered over Finola's chest for a moment before her fingertips ran lightly across her bloodied skin. "Punctured lung, several cracked ribs," she paused to drink another vial of lyrium, "various cuts and abrasions, but she'll recover. Her blood will replenish in a few days. More importantly, the babe still thrives."

"Babe?" He had been watching Finola's chest rise and fall with ragged breaths, and now Sebastian's eyes flew to the mage. "As in… is she with child?"

Dorinda began to cut away the crimson wrappings as her young apprentice prepared new bandages laden with a healing poultice. "Oh, you didn't…? Congratulations, Prince Vael," the mage smiled.

"I… _what_? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I couldn't tell if it's a boy or a girl. I can't have any more lyrium just yet."

"Oh… oh my, the Maker _has_ blessed us." Consumed with joy, it took him a few minutes to appreciate what the mage had told him. "As soon as you are able, come back and tell us if it's a son or daughter, and when to expect the babe."

She nodded with a grin. "She's several weeks along, I think," she paused, staring back at those proud azure eyes. "Should be easy enough to predict when I return."

Sebastian gazed at Finola's peaceful face, the color slowly coming back to her cheeks. His eyes skirted down to her stomach, his brows narrowing in thought. "Why can I not see," he swallowed, a slight blush creeping up his neck as he questioned the mage. "I mean, shouldn't she be showing some by now?"

"Some women hardly look with child at this stage. I can assure you, a babe grows inside your betrothed, Prince Vael. I'll give you a more definite timeframe when I return."

Sebastian smiled. "She will be so very happy, as am I." He turned to the mage. "Thank you, Dorinda. You may leave."

As the mage turned to go, the door flew open and a young man paced into the room and addressed Sebastian. "Who is this woman? Are you all right? I heard there was a commotion in the courtyard."

"I'm fine, Arthur." Sebastian gazed down at the ring Finola had given him. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with emotion and fought back the tears of joy, inadvertently mixed with apprehension. "This is my… she's… Finola Hawke."

"You're betrothed?" The chestnut-haired young man came up behind Sebastian and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We have the best healer in all of Starkhaven. She'll be fine."

"Yes, yes. Dorinda has assured me the same." Sebastian turned to Arthur and clapped him on the shoulder. "It seems you are to be a big brother as well, Arthur. Finola is carrying my child."

"Wonderful news, Father!" Arthur tightened his arms around Sebastian in a bear hug. "We must have you married then, as soon as she's able, or this will turn even more scandalous than your acknowledging me as your son."

"Yes. Can you arrange something with the Chantry for me?" Arthur nodded. "I also need you to find Fenris and tell him to fetch the dwarf, Varric Tethris. I have a few questions for him."

"And where shall he look? Will he be in town or camped outside the walls?"

"Tell him to try the inns first, and tell him," Sebastian clenched his teeth as he gripped his son's shoulders, "to tear apart Starkhaven if need be, as long as he brings me Varric before nightfall."

"Right away." Arthur made to turn away from Sebastian, but then looked back at him, his eyes shining the same blue as his father's. "We _will_ be together as a family. You, Finola, and me, and your little one."

"From your lips to the Maker's ears, Arthur." Sebastian regarded his son with a determined stare. "One more thing before you go… summon the Antivan to my study."

Arthur nodded once. "I'm so delighted for you, Father. Nothing will stand in the way of our happiness. Nothing."

"I agree."

Arthur strode out as Isabela walked in, looking quite perplexed. Sebastian held up his hand to stop the flurry of questions he knew she was about to run off.

"Stay with Finola, please. I'll be back in a little while." Moving next to the bed, he knelt on one knee and took Finola's hand. "Everything will be fine, love, I'll make sure of it." A soft moan came from her lips as he applied a cool cloth to her forehead. Her eyes cracked open slightly and Sebastian smiled at her. "There's my beautiful girl. Can you hear me, Fin?"

"Mmn… Seb… where… brown?"

"Brown?"

"Wind… where?"

"Shh, love. I don't know what you're asking but you need to rest. Here," he said placing a vial to her lips. "Sip some and then you will sleep. I'll be back soon."

With all her strength drained, she couldn't fight the liquid as it dribbled into her mouth. Once swallowed, another moan escaped her lips. "No drink… need… brown," she moaned as she slipped back to sleep. Sebastian placed her hand on her stomach and rose up to meet Isabela's pinning glare.

"I know why you want to talk with him, Seb, but you must keep a clear head." Isabela pulled up a chair to sit next to the bed. "Things aren't always as they seem."

"I hope not, for her sake." Sebastian stalked off to his study, and Isabela shook her head as she stared at Finola.

"Never a dull moment with Hawke around, conscious or not," she mumbled to herself. Isabela laid the damp cloth on Finola's forehead and sighed. "I wonder what you've been up to that's made our Prince so incensed, and so in need of my friend's special skills?"


	13. Loving Eyes Can Never See

"Amora, I would prefer to ravish you in the privacy of our suite," Zevran murmured from the crook of his Warden's neck. "Keep your greedy hands where I can see them, please."

"My dear assassin, you've grown into such a modest man over the years." A spark lit in her eyes, tempting him as she licked her lips slowly. "The idea of getting caught used to make you more lustful, not less."

"The Prince has been gracious, Marlena, and kind enough to allow us this brief respite from our travels. I am merely being courteous." Zevran noticed a slight flush blooming on her cheeks. "You should stop before you get yourself too worked up."

Her hands were all over him then as she nudged her nose against his. "Too late," she whispered, a soft moan roughening her voice. "Kiss me, elf."

Over the years, there were many instances when Zevran was more than pleased to delight in his boisterous, coppery redhead. This moment was no different. His warm, thick lips grazed her cheekbone before he flashed a brilliant smile. His lips had just settled on hers with a searing kiss when he heard a muffled sigh.

Zevran's words fell softly. "We have company." He turned to face the entryway.

With a loud clearing of his throat, Sebastian stepped into the library.

"Ah, Prince Vael, my lovely Marlena is overly impassioned at times. I apologize."

Marlena poked a finger into Zevran's back, not all together happy at being the one to take the blame for being caught in a huddled kiss. She winked at Sebastian and bent down to adjust her boot, affording him a very clear view of her cleavage.

"No, no," Sebastian said as his cheeks reddened. "You love each other. The Maker wants us all to be reminded of what a joy and a gift true love can be."

Grinning at Marlena's mischievous revenge, Zevran walked toward Sebastian, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, you have a question of us? Or perhaps… a task?"

"Lady Arainai, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to speak to your husband, alone."

"She is just Marlie, and call me Zev, please. Last names can be hazardous to one's health," Zevran said as he stepped closer, watching Sebastian nod. "Pardon my forwardness, Prince Vael, but Marlie and I keep no secrets between us. Therefore, we are what you call a package deal."

"Very well. I meant no offense." Sebastian thought Zevran's smile was pleasant enough, and he continued. "What I am about to discuss with you is of the utmost importance and requires absolute discretion. Did you hear about the excitement in the courtyard earlier?" Zevran nodded. "My betrothed, Finola Hawke, was ambushed on her way to Starkhaven."

"Ah, the lovely Lady Hawke. I remember her well. She is quite… flexible." Marlena gave Zevran a sidelong glance. "Nothing like that, my dear. We sparred some, and she almost bested me before we called a draw. You are indeed a lucky man."

Sebastian ignored the compliment and walked away to look out the window. "My request is two-fold. I want you to speak with the mercenaries Finola travelled with and question them. It wasn't clear if the ambushers were simply bandits or if they had ulterior motives. Also, I want to know who was travelling in their party. I am aware of the templars as they are in the guest quarters here. And the dwarf, Varric Tethras, also accompanied her."

"Who are we really looking for?"

Sebastian moved to stand behind his desk. "Let me just say I have a gut feeling, one I'd like you to confirm, or more preferably, deny. The mercenaries are staying in the Bloody Hand Guesthouse on the outskirts of town. You can imagine the kind of place that is."

"Yes. It sounds delightful." Zevran turned to Marlena and smirked. "Are you up for a little role play, amora?" The rapid rise and fall of her eyebrows said it all. "Good. We shall head there as soon as we settle on a fee. This constant travelling has cost us quite a bit of gold."

"My hospitality hasn't been enough?" Sebastian challenged. Zevran waited, unmoving, but for a slight widening of his eyes. Annoyed, he reached into his pocket and tossed Zevran a small pouch. "That will have to suffice." Sebastian threw back his shoulders and raised his chin. "You do know the whereabouts of the former Commander of the Grey would fetch more money than a man could ever want?"

Sebastian winced but held his ground when Zevran lunged forward and stood motionless, glaring at him. "Do not threaten us, Vael," he spat, anger burning behind his cold stare. "This little errand is a business transaction and nothing more. I appreciate your confidentiality and previous understanding, but I am also not above-" Marlena put a gentle hand on Zevran's arm, clearing her throat that way. Zevran took a deep, cleansing breath and stepped back. "Well, let us end this conversation, shall we? We will get your information, and then leave. It seems we have overstayed our welcome."

What has she done to me? Sebastian's shoulders slumped, his chin falling to his chest. "I apologize. I… spoke in haste." He loosened his collar, twisting his neck once. "As soon as you uncover answers, please find me, no matter the time of night."

Zevran offered a formal bow before escorting Marlena out the door. Once far enough away not to be overheard, he whispered to Marlena. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We're looking for her lover. And I don't blame her for taking one either. He may be handsome and rich, but he's a pompous blowhard."

"Tsk, tsk. Such harsh judgments. Remember what you thought of me when we first met, and all the weeks afterward until you finally realized I was not the culo you had assumed?"

"Yes, but I'm not as good a judge of character as you. I don't think he'll rat us out though."

"Never. He has too much at stake. That was bravado," he said waving his hand. "And desperation. Vael is jealous and fearful he will lose her. Any man would do the same for such a beautiful and powerful woman."

"But not you, right?"

"Bah!" He slapped her bottom as she walked into the courtyard, and she spun around, swatting his arm playfully. "You would never cheat on me."

"No, I wouldn't. Well, that is unless a good-looking and wealthy prince suddenly found himself back on the market."

"Ah, my dear, you'd be the death of him. He is not man enough for your nerve, your insatiable demand for pleasure."

Marlena rolled her eyes. "I do love you, Zevran."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Please, stop pacing, Wyndham. You're getting on my last nerve." Varric threw up his hands and walked over to the window of their rented room. "I think I see Jon now, so you can quit your bellyaching."

"Oh, I'm sorry, my dwarven captor," Bran said, "but Fin is in the clutches of that egotistical asshole, and I'm a trifle concerned. Aren't you?"

"Of course I am. But we need to hear from Jon before we rush headlong into some sort of rescue mission."

"Yes, yes, I understand that!" One hand flailed toward the window, and the other ran across his head before he griped a fistful of hair and released it. "But for all we know, she could be held captive!" Bran said as he continued to wave his arms about. "I swear, I will behead Vael myself if she…." He couldn't finish his thought, the words catching in his throat.

"Keep it together, man." Varric opened the door, poking his head out to usher Jon into the room with a wave. "I know you're worried, but you won't be doing her any favors by getting killed because you can't control your macho tendency to puff and preen."

"What is taking him so bloody long?" Bran asked with a huff.

"Here he comes." Varric offered Jon a firm handshake. "Good to see ya, Jon. What's the latest?"

Jon rubbed at the back of his head and neck, his eyes squinting with fatigue. It took a moment for him put his thoughts together, his body feeling stiff and in need of rest. "Well, Fin was injured and-"

"Injured?" Bran cut in. "What in the Maker's name happened?"

"She's all right, Wyndham," Jon said in a soft voice, uncharacteristic for the brawny mercenary. "The mage tending her said she'd be fine. I saw to her safety myself."

"That's it!" Bran grabbed his pack and threw it over his shoulder. "I'm going there and do not try to stop me, Tethras!"

"Wait. Wait!" Varric stepped in front of Bran had held his hand out, careful not to touch him just yet. "Listen, Bran, she gave explicit orders to keep you away from Vael, and I can't let you go there. Come on, man. Don't make me force the issue."

"She's hurt… and alone. Varric, you know I can't just…." Bran closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Let me go. I'll reason with Vael. Surely once he realizes he's lost her, he'll concede."

"Oh really?" Varric laughed aloud. "You think Choir Boy is going to let you waltz out the door with her? Not to mention Rivaini and Broody are there ready to move on his order. No, you can't go, not yet. Give it 'til the morning."

"Morning? Are you insane?" Bran sneered and turned his back on Varric, addressing the mercenary. "What exactly did you see?"

"Well, she was in good hands; Vael's personal healer was taking care of her," he assured. "I wouldn't lie, Wyndham."

Finola had entrusted Jon with her life, and Bran could see he was a good man at heart. However, that didn't diminish the helpless ache he had in the pit of his stomach. "Just tell me the nature of her injuries! Please."

"Probably a couple cracked ribs, a gash on her side. She had suffered some blood loss, but she was coherent enough to understand and answer me. By the time I left, she had been tended to and was comfortable in bed. You should have seen the room, so rich and-"

"Andraste's tits!" Bran turned to Varric, his eyes lit with a wild panic Varric had never seen in him before. "I love this woman, Varric. How can I sit idly by while she's stuck in that blasted fortress?"

"Exactly. It's a fortress. You have no skills that lend to sneaking in and stealing her away. I'm sure she can't travel in her condition anyway."

"And she swore me to an oath to keep you here as well," Jon put in. "I'm with Tethras on this. Don't push it."

Bran's fist slammed against the wall. "Damn it all," he muttered, taking a deep, braced breath. "I never should have agreed to this. I'm going there tonight, one way, or another."

"Fine, fine. How about a compromise then? We wait a few hours more, and then go, with me at your side."

"One hour. No more." A look of torment crossed over his face, and he raked a hand through his hair.

Varric gave him a small smile and a friendly slap on the back. "Vael has the finest mages in Starkhaven, I wager. She will be all right." Or someone will pay dearly, Varric thought.

Bran couldn't hide his exasperation, and he didn't care what any of them thought about it either. "She'd better be."

A single, loud knock sounded on the door. "Varric, it's Fenris! Open up."

All eyes were on Varric when Jon spoke up. "Oh yeah, forgot to mention that Vael said he was sending his elf after you. He wants you brought in by nightfall."

"Shit," Varric said under his breath. "Then he must suspect something," Varric whispered as he motioned to Bran to get out of sight.

Bran shook his head, unyielding, and leveled a defiant stare at Varric. "I'm going with you and damn the consequences."

Varric considered and then nodded. "Maker's balls, Wyndham. You better behave." Varric held Bran's gaze until he was sure Bran was under control, and then he opened the door.

"Hello, Fenris," Varric said as he clapped him on the shoulder, his brows shooting up. "Your cushy life in Starkhaven must agree with you. I think you've put on some weight, elf." Fenris' eyes narrowed for a split second. Almost got him to smile, Varric thought.

Fenris looked beyond Varric and spied Bran. "Ah, so it is as Sebastian thought. Hawke has complicated matters yet again."

Varric didn't like the disagreeable tone in Fenris' voice, and he bristled at the mention of Hawke's name. "Well, now that you know all our secrets, I may have to kill you, Fenris." Varric forced an enthusiastic laugh, but Fenris wasn't amused with his veiled threat. "Come on. Lighten up, elf!"

"I am merely here to escort you back to the castle. Sebastian has some questions." Fenris felt his blood run cold, his heart pounding in his chest, but he didn't let it show. He was indebted to Sebastian, loyal, but Varric was a friend as well. Damn that woman for putting us all in this position.

A baffled expression crossed Varric's face as he looked at Fenris. "Choir Boy had better not come apart. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to him on his own turf."

"Varric, we have known each other too long to mince words. I do not intend to harm any of you. All I wish is for you to come along peaceably and talk to Sebastian. He is not a violent man. You know this."

"We'll see," Varric muttered. "All right. Lead the way, elf." Varric motioned to Bran to follow along. "Not a word." Bran nodded with a harrumph.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Love?" Finola's hair was damp with sweat, tight ringlets sticking to her neck, and Sebastian brushed them aside with a fingertip. "Fin, can you hear me?"

"Mmnm… Seb…what's happening?"

"You've been hurt, but my personal mage has righted you. You're safe now, my love." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. "Just relax and breathe easy."

Her mouth was dry and she struggled to swallow. "Water," she whispered. A gentle hand propped her head up enough for her to take a few sips. "Are you… all right? Did you see…?"

"See what?"

"Mmnm," she struggled with the pain. "Him."

"Jon? He carried you in. Don't worry, Fin, he wasn't hurt. He couldn't tell me much about the attackers either. But I have a man on the case, a man you know by the name of Zevran Arainai, the Crow assassin we met on the Wounded Coast a few years ago. He and the… his woman were drifting through Starkhaven and asked for succor, so I offered them a room. You remember him, don't you?"

Her lips curved up in an unguarded, drowsy smile when her eyes finally focused and saw him by her bed. "Yes. The handsome elf." She tried to laugh but recoiled from the pain instead as she licked her lips, tasting the lingering tang of blood.

"You think he's handsome?" He shook his head at her distracting comment. "Anyway, I sent him to speak with the mercenaries. I want to learn the details of the ambush, to rule out any usurpers."

Details? Shit. "Sebastian… please get the mage… for a rejuvenation spell… we need to speak."

"There will be plenty of time for discussion once we are married, Love. You need rest now."

"Please, I don't want to sleep… let's talk. I need to hear your voice. I feel like I'm dying." Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"You are not dying, Finola. It was a serious injury, but you got here in time. Sip this," he said placing a vial near her lips. "It should perk you up some."

"Ah, good. But… is a bronto is sitting on my chest? I can hardly breathe."

He smiled, glad to see her sense of humor was still intact. "Let me check your bandages," he said pushing two fingers under the wrappings. "They seem a bit too tight." He bent over and retrieved a boot knife, then cut the cloth in a few places to enable it to expand. "Better?"

She nodded with a small smile. The fogginess in her head began to clear. Judging by Sebastian's attentiveness and demeanor, she thought he had no idea of Bran's proximity, at least not yet.

"Fin, can you tell me anything about the ambushers? Did they seem to be the usual run-of-the-mill bandits?"

"I think so. None of them mentioned any names or indicated they knew you or me. They actually seemed like a poor bunch of misfits. Some were so thin and frail. I thought things were looking up around these parts."

"It's a slow recovery. I'm glad the templars brought extra weapons and armor for my men. I've used my personal coffers to buy food and feed for the townsfolk and their animals when they run low on grains and such. I'm doing all I can."

"Of course you are." Her eyes went soft, admiration turning up her lips. "I knew you would never let your people down."

Sebastian dropped his forehead onto her shoulder, forcing away the sting of tears until she gave a pained gasp. "Ungh… that hurts…."

His head snapped back. "Oh, sorry! I've just missed you, Fin, so very much."

For a long moment, she only stared at him, searching his face. "Are you happy, Sebastian?"

"I am now that you're here," he said with a loving smile. "When we marry, our union will allow great things to come about for our cities."

"Marry," she said, gazing away. "Can we talk about that? I mean what exactly did you have planned?"

"We'll discuss that in a minute. First, I have incredible news for you, my love." Finola sharpened her gaze on his face, his eyes shining like the bluest of seas. "You, my fair lady, are to have a child. Our child."

"Wh-what? Is that a joke?"

"I know," he laughed. "I can hardly believe it myself. My mage confirmed it when you were first brought in. You're going to be the mother of my heir, Fin. Thank Blessed Andraste you arrived when you did." Sebastian waited for a response as Finola gaped at him. "Are you all right?"

"No, I mean yes, but… it's just that I'm… I'm shocked is all. But… happy too." Holy shit, a baby. It must be Bran's. Think, think…. "So," she paused, wanting to ask the most important question, but fearful of the answer. Her eyes travelled to the ceiling. "When did the mage say the babe is due?"

"She couldn't say for sure. She had drained all her mana healing you and could not have any more lyrium. She should be back to check on you soon though. Then she will tell us when it's due and if it's a boy of girl."

"I see." She stared at the ceiling again, her jaw set, a grim expression settling over her features. Panic overrode the pain she was suffering at that moment. A baby? Sebastian's baby? No, it has to be Bran's. Her head swam with thoughts of mothering, spit up, and swaddling a baby's bottom. Then her heart clenched. Maker, if it was Sebastian's, what would she do? She couldn't leave the babe with him and head back to Kirkwall, nor could she stay in a loveless marriage and break Bran's heart. And where was Bran anyway? Sure, she had told him to stay out of sight, but a part of her wanted him to ride in on a white horse and scoop her from the bed, trotting off into the sunset. "Help me sit up. I… I'm a little queasy. I need perspective." Her hands went to the mattress and she tried to push up, but her elbows gave out.

"Finola, just stay still. It will pass." She had a look of utter determination in her eye and tried to push herself up again. Knowing how stubborn she was, Sebastian thought she might further injure herself if he didn't help her. "Let me move you." His arms wrapped around her lower back and buttocks, and gently hoisted her up to lean against the backboard as she winced and whimpered from the pain. He offered her another healing potion to minimize the discomfort and she drank it greedily.

"Thank you." She grimaced and carefully shifted on the bed, seeking a more comfortable position. "At least I can see more of this opulent room. Maker's breath, Sebastian, it's unreal, like a fairy tale."

"I thought you might like this room," he said, smiling proudly. "When you are able, you can walk over to the window and see the Minanter River. It is a lovely stretch of water. And the fish have been-"

"Have you spoken to Varric yet?" she interrupted.

"No," he said in a curious voice. "But I sent Fenris to bring him here. I believe he can tell me more details than anyone else can. Even the templars had little to say."

"They're a closed-mouth bunch. I think they fear Cullen's wrath if they get too involved in anything outside Kirkwall's jurisdiction. They're quite loyal, as you know."

His face hardened. "And are they loyal to you as well?"

"Only because they fear I have some sort of control over Cullen's decisions. Well, I suppose I do," she mused. "I guess if I were so inclined, I could make it difficult for the templars should they step outside the line of their duties."

The hand holding hers twitched, then clenched. "So maybe their silence is due to fear of your reprisals?"

What is he getting at? "Oh Sebastian, they don't fear me that much. They are respectful of my position and the decisions I make that go along with my title. It's more a case of one hand washing the other."

"They were reluctant to say who else was travelling with you. Any mages, merchants, or… other persons holding political positions? My guards mentioned a man not wearing any semblance of mercenary or templar armor."

Shit, he suspects Bran. Dammit. And why isn't he demanding I tell him the truth? Fuck! He wants me to confess my sins like a good Andrastian. Embarrassment came unbidden, reddening her cheeks as she remembered images of their past encounters in her mind's eye. Finola sighed and forced a sad expression. "Our one and only mage was killed straightaway. He was the nicest person too. I knew I should have listened to-" she stopped herself, practically giving away her secret. "Varric wanted to bring along more mages, but I didn't want to spend any more money than I had already since this trip was more personal than professional. That was stupid of me." She shook her head in feigned anger. Time to change the subject. She gazed at Sebastian with a smile she knew would disturb his thoughts. Laying her hand on his arm, gentle fingers stroked back and forth as she smiled. "In your letter you mentioned something about a mystery guest. Who is it?"

"Oh! I completely forgot! Let me go see if he's near." Sebastian ran to the door and shouted. "Arthur? Arthur!"

"Yes! I'm right here!" Finola heard a man shout. As she watched the doorway, she noticed Sebastian run his hands through his hair the way he always did when he was anxious. She wondered who she could be surprised by when the young man walked into her room and came near her bed, bowing his head respectfully. When he looked up, all she could see were his eyes.

"Viscountess Hawke, it is a great pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Arthur. My… Sebastian has told me everything about you, but I can see he may have skimped on the details of your beauty," he said, attempting levity.

The words were coming from his mouth, but Finola heard none of them, so entranced by the young man's likeness to Sebastian.

Sebastian gestured for Arthur to sit on a chair near Finola's bed, and together, they waited for her to respond. "Finola, my love, the Maker works in mysterious ways. He has seen fit to have this remarkable young man come into my life at a time when I was sure I could take no more upheaval." Finola's eyes were still upon Arthur's face, her thoughts racing about the impact this could or would have on her future. "Fin? Did you hear me?"

"He's your son, isn't he?"

"Why yes! How did you know?"

"Maker's breath, Sebastian, he's your mirror image, just younger," she said, staring. "His eyes… I'm not sure what to say. Congratulations?"

"You say that as if you don't believe me?"

"You know me. I'm… cautious." She gaped at Sebastian's lookalike. "Arthur, it's nice to meet you. Can you leave me alone with your… father please?" I can't believe I just said that.

"Finola, this rudeness certainly does not become you," Sebastian chastised.

"Please, Sebastian. I'm weak, and tired. I need a rest."

Arthur shot up from his seat. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry to have intruded on your recuperation. I shall take my leave and we can speak more at another time." After a short bow, he walked away, but Finola was watching Sebastian and the look on his face was one of utter resentment.

"Really, Fin, did you have to be so impolite? He is my son, after all."

"Your newly found son, conveniently. Are you so sure of his motivations? Do you think he has no aspirations for ruling Starkhaven? You'll have to sleep with a dagger under your bed, lying in wait until he comes to kill you in your sleep so he can assume the throne! Holy Andraste, are you that naive?"

"You are speaking out of turn, Fin! You do not know the full story here. Arthur is a noble young man. He has been nothing but gracious and supportive. I have no reason to doubt his devotion to me or my cause. The fact that he is my son makes it so."

"Oh right," she said, rolling her eyes. "He has some precious Vael blood coursing through his veins so therefore he must be righteous. Are you mad? Did you receive a blow to your head? How can you possibly not see the dangers here?" She blew out a frustrated breath and continued calmly. "Sebastian, I am only saying these things for your own protection. Tell me, who is his mother? Some tart from your wild youth looking to make her mark on the world?"

"I can understand your concern, but do not speak of things you know nothing about. His mother was a fine lass, one of the sweetest and kindest girls I had ever known. My… dalliances with her were sinful, it's true, but I never hurt her or treated her badly. She was just an orphaned girl taken in by a couple here in Starkhaven. For years, she had no guidance, no… hope. I helped her, gave her coin for her family so they wouldn't starve."

"And fucked her when no one was watching!"

Sebastian gritted his teeth, controlling an overwhelming urge to slap her. "Stop that kind of talk this instant. We shared more than just sex. It was tender and sweet, young love, pure and untainted by the world around us."

"So, you were in love with her. Great. That makes it all the more convenient for him. And where is she now, his mother?"

"Dead. Taken by the sweating sickness four years ago. There is no doubt he is my son, and as such, he is an heir. You had better get used to the idea."

"Oh? Any other children you may have would be heirs more so than some boy who pops into your life the second you return to Starkhaven. He must have waited for that moment for years!" Ach! I don't care about any of this! He has an heir and I can get out the heck of here and move on.

"Of course our child is an heir, but Arthur is of age to learn the intricacies of ruling. When our child reaches adulthood, he, or she, can rule beside Arthur, all the while learning from him."

"You're fucking unbelievable! I wasn't talking about my child anyway!" Finola threw up her hands, admitting frustration, and she steeled herself for the inevitable. "Look, I don't actually give a rat's ass who rules this city, Sebastian. It's extremely important I discuss other… developments with you."

"Did something happen in Kirkwall you haven't told me?"

"Well, sort of. I'm not going to drag this out. I'm just going to come straight out and tell you." I don't love you! I love Bran! I'm leaving and taking my child back to Kirkwall! Of course! Because it's not born yet! Shit! She took a deep breath. "I can't marry you, Sebastian."

"What do you mean? I'll understand if you want to wait and not marry right now. We can postpone the wedding for a few weeks, but not much longer or scandal will result when everyone realizes you are with child and-"

"I'm not in love with you!" she blurted. "I'm not in love with you, not anymore."

"Not in love…?" His expression fell, his eyes glazing over with tears, and her heart broke a little at the sight. "When… why…?" he whispered. "Surely you can't mean this."

"I'm so sorry, Sebastian. Everything has changed. I've changed."

"I see nothing different about you, nothing that would lead me to think you don't love me." He let out a trembling breath and shook his head. "No, I don't believe you."

"I do love you, as a dear friend. I'm just not in love… with you."

"But now that we're together, we can work through your doubts, take some time to reacquaint ourselves and find the love we shared mere months ago."

"No, we can't. I don't… feel for you as I once did. I think the pressures of my position, the distance between us, your campaign to win back Starkhaven… You may have thought you loved me, but I was just a means to an end for you. You said yourself what a powerful force we would be together, always talking of our marriage as if it were simply a joining of political powers and not a union of two people who share intimacies. I think you were blinded by your need to recover your place here."

"Don't you dare turn this on me and make it my fault." His voice was louder now, nearly quivering with panic. "I have done nothing but love you. I gave you another chance after your infidelity and you promised yourself to me! How can I be the one in the wrong here?"

"Maker, Sebastian, I never wanted this to happen. Go ahead and blame me then. You're right, it is entirely my fault. Every horrible thought going through your head is my fault," she said, the words rushing out fast, as if it would hurt less, hurt him less.

"It's him again, isn't it?" he said through gritted teeth. "That lecherous weasel, Bran Wyndham." She didn't deny it, and he clenched his fists into tight balls, standing up with such force, such fury that she winced at his reaction. He paced the room, his boots thudding across the stone floor, searching for the words, wanting to shout obscenities and curse her to the Void. "How could you, Fin? After everything we went through, everything you swore to me… To take up with him again, it's inexcusable!"

A knock sounded on the door and the mage announced herself. "It's Dorinda! May I come in?"

"Yes!" Finola shouted right away.

Sebastian glared at her, seething. "This conversation is not over."

She couldn't meet his gaze, and motioned for Dorinda to come to her bedside.

"You're looking much better. I've rested and replenished my mana," she said brightly, not noticing the tension-filled prince behind her. "If you would like the details of your babe, I'd be happy to examine you."

"Yes please." Please let this child be Bran's, she prayed silently. "Do what you must."

Finola felt the healing energy in her muscles, tingling along her nerves as some of the pain subsided. "Hmm, you are recovering well. Maybe you'll be up and around by tomorrow. Let me see," Dorinda said as she placed her palms on Finola's belly.

Sebastian was so distracted he scarcely realized what the mage was doing. Keeping his emotions in check, he paced over to the bed and stared down at Dorinda's glowing hands as she spoke. "I can't tell if… it's a girl, or a boy yet. It's too small. But it is strong and growing normally, I can assure you." Finola smiled, tears prickling her eyes. Sebastian looked at her joyous face and found it hard not break down and sob. He dug his hands into his sides and prayed for strength.

"Now, let me see when he or she will be making an appearance." At that, Finola's heart sped up and her palms grew sweaty. The mage crinkled her nose and offered a small smile before saying, "You are not too far along yet… six weeks or so. I expect the babe will be here by Haring."

It is Bran's. It really is Bran's baby! Thunderstruck, Finola had visions of telling Bran the news leaping to every part of her mind. When Sebastian's knee hit the bed frame, his sudden movement broke her reverie and her eyes flew open wide.

"Dorinda, a word please." Sebastian took the mage by the arm and pulled her several feet away, whispering in her ear. Finola couldn't quite read the expression Dorinda wore, but she was certain Sebastian had a plan in mind, although what kind of plan, she had no idea. What would he resort to now knowing Bran was the father of her child?

Dorinda walked back to the bed and opened a small vial of purple liquid. "Drink this, my dear. It will ease your pain and keep the baby healthy too."

"Is that absolutely necessary? I'm feeling much better now."

"It is, child. It contains certain… herbs to strengthen your muscles as well as the babe's lungs and heart." Finola shook her head, somewhat uneasy with the mage's persistence. "You wouldn't deny your child's health, would you?"

Guilt would tear her apart if she were to refuse and something went wrong with the baby. She reluctantly took the vial from Dorinda's hand and took a drop on the tip of her tongue. "Ew, that is awful. How can something so nasty be so helpful?"

The mage laughed. "Some of the healthiest things are the foulest tasting and smelling. Finish the whole vial and then rest. I will check on you in the morning."

"Thank you, Dorinda." The mage smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes, and left the room. Finola placed the vial on the nightstand, not quite trusting its contents.

She cast her eyes about the room, unsure of what to say as a long awkward silence filled the air. Finola reached out with a trembling hand as if to touch Sebastian, but his tense stillness demanded she keep her distance. "Sebastian, I can only imagine what you must be feeling, but I-"

"Silence! You have no right to apologize for this depravity, this… bastard child you've conceived with that man!"

An angry flush spread across her face. "You dare to call my child a bastard when you're so ready to put your own bastard upon the throne of Starkhaven?"

He let go a mocking chuckle. "Fortunately, I have a solution for all of us," he said, sounding exasperated and tired.

"A solution? But there is no problem to solve! As soon as I am able, I'll leave for Kirkwall. You'll forget me soon enough. You have Arthur now and he should be your main concern." The tiniest sip of the draught had her eyes growing heavy. She knew it was a powerful sleeping draught then. Damn him! "Why do you want me to sleep? Please, Sebastian, we can get beyond this hurt, I know we can. Please don't punish me for loving Bran. I never meant to hurt you, but I couldn't stay away from him." Why did I say that? Why do I want to say anything about Bran? Maker, is it a truth serum of some kind?

"Is he here in Starkhaven?" Finola tried to keep her head from moving up and down, tried to move it side to side, but she couldn't and nodded. "I thought so. It's a shame it took a serum to finally make you an honest woman, temporary though it is." As he brought the vial to her lips, she couldn't press her lips tight enough to make a seal, her neck wouldn't twist, her hands were like weights, too heavy to rise up and swat him away. Another drop slipped past her lips. "How long have you been with him?"

But she could speak. "Since mid-Drakonis."

"Did he return to Kirkwall from Markham?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, brows furrowed in slight confusion.

"No." And the truth flowed from her lips like wine from a cask. "I went to Markham. I had to see him again. He was being poisoned by his rival. Varric and I made an antidote and once he drank it, I realized I couldn't live without him. I came here to tell you that it's over between us. I'm sorry."

"Finola, you disappoint me so." He leaned back on his chair, sharp eyes trained on her face. "And you truly love that snake?"

"I do. More than I ever thought possible. He is everything to me now. And we will have a child. You can't imagine how happy I am."

"Actually, I can." She'd made him feel more than he thought humanly possible, whether it was pain or love. Since first he met her, she affected him, and now he found himself unable to reach the state of numbness he longed for. Even after everything that had happened between them, he thought she was his only hope of finding happiness and redemption in his life, and he realized that he was prepared to do anything, give up everything he had, if it meant he could have her love him in return.

"Let me go, Sebastian. Just… let me go. Please."

He opened his mouth to snap a retort but stopped when he realized remaining mad wasn't going to solve anything. "Oh, my love. You will fall asleep soon, and when you awaken, everything will have been put to rights."

"Listen to yourself, Sebastian. You sound like a man possessed. What would Elthina think if she heard this from you?"

"Elthina understood what love is, what devotion and sacrifice are. We will have the life we've both dreamed about, and another child, another heir in due time."

"What are saying?" Her head ached as each thought stabbed at her mind leaving nothing but chaos and uncertainty in their wake. "Please, Sebastian, please don't hurt Bran," she mumbled.

"I assure you, I won't hurt him. Sleep well, Fin."

"No… please don't… I'm begging… you…."

"Prince Vael! Fenris has returned!" came a voice from beyond the doorway. "With the Antivan not far behind!"

"Perfect timing," he whispered to himself. Glancing at Finola's now peaceful face, a twinge of guilt pinched his heart, but he pushed it down and walked to the door with long strides.

"Escort our guests to the library, and stay with them. I'll meet with Zevran first, in my study."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zevran snuck into Finola's room upon his return to the castle, taking advantage of an unguarded moment at her door when Bran and Varric were brought to the library. As he hovered over her, he recalled the woman he had met several years. Not once did he believe her to be a person to be toyed with or a one so easily melded to the thoughts of another as Sebastian would have him think. He had to hear it straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. Ah, but she was the finest of horses.

"Lady Hawke," he whispered as he touched her shoulder. "Open your eyes."

"Mmnmn... who...?"

"It is I, Zevran Arainai, the former Crow. You must remember me? The accent? The high cheekbones?"

A smile formed on her lips even though her eyes were still closed. "Yes... I do. The wounded Coast… how is your… Warden?"

"As wicked as ever. Marlena is waiting for me, but her identity is not to be disclosed, although some here already know of her presence. We cannot linger in Starkhaven any longer. But she and I will help you, if need be."

One eye struggled to open. When she saw him, her heart fluttered with relief. "Are you here to help me?"

"Yes. I owe you that much." He leaned in to hear her weak voice say what he needed to know. "Tell me, who is this man, this Bran Wyndham?"

"He is… my life, the father of my unborn child."

Zevran's brows rose at that admission. "And he has treated you well? Above all others?"

"Even more so. He is my salvation, my… dearest friend, my heart. Is he safe? I couldn't bear the thought…."

"Ah, mi amiga, fear not. Here, drink some water." He put a cup to her lips and she took a sip. "He is out of harm's way and I will try to make sure he remains so. In fact, he is here with your dwarven friend in another part of the castle. But we must plan accordingly."

"Here?" Finola paled, and looked at him in shock. "Maker, Sebastian will … please… I must get up…." She tried to press her palms to the bed, but her weakness prevented much movement.

"Shh, Finola, he is fine. Sebastian has only had his men detain him," Zevran said as he took her hand. "As far as I know, he hasn't even spoken with Bran, which indicates to me that the prince still has his wits about him. You must stay here for now, and trust me with this. I am to meet with the prince as soon as I leave you, and if it goes as I hope, you will see your man before long."

"So you've spoken with Sebastian? I think he intends to," she paused, choked up at the thought, "hurt Bran, or maybe even kill him. Did Sebastian hire you?"

"He did, but only to seek information to confirm his suspicions. For that, I am sorry. But I have a plan, a way to keep everyone safe. Do you trust me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really," Zevran chuckled. "Believe me, amiga, I only wish to see you happy. Love often complicates one's thoughts. I have seen many horrible things in my lifetime, and it has always been clear to me that one of the hardest things in life is to watch the person you love fall in love with another. It can drive a man to act in ways he never dreamed he would."

"He is a good man, Zevran. He's brokenhearted, and may be unreasonable, but please, don't hurt him."

"I will not. My only action will be to get you and the seneschal out of Starkhaven should things turn sour. I'm going to try to reason with Vael first. He is, after all, an intelligent man."

"I have no doubt you can be quite convincing," she noted softly.

"My persuasive charms often turn violent. However, I have no intention of letting anything escalate here."

How she was fortunate enough to have this man intervene on her behalf, she couldn't figure. But she was more grateful than she had ever been in her life. "You will come back to Kirkwall with us, won't you? I'd like to repay you both for your help. And you and Marlena are welcome to stay at my home as long as you like."

"Yes, that would be most appreciated."

"You are a good man, Zevran Arainai." Placing her hand on his chest confidently, she smiled as she felt his heart pounding hard. "Marlena is lucky indeed."

"Rest now, Finola. You shall be in your lover's arms soon enough." Zevran flashed her a dazzling smile and disappeared.

A part of her was terrified for her unborn child, praying for the moment when she saw Bran's face again. Another part of her was relieved, having told Sebastian the truth, the promise of her future with Bran brighter than ever.

As Finola began drifting to sleep, visions of a flourishing garden behind her home in Kirkwall appeared, a ginger-haired child picking the full blossoms and giggling softly as Finola and Bran watched their child with pride. In a sleepy haze, she felt the joy of what the future would bring for them both, their long journey to happiness finally complete, and she smiled.


	14. Every Path Has Its Puddle

Zevran and Marlena strolled past the heavy oak door leading into Sebastian's study. Zevran's watchful eyes went first to Fenris as he leaned against the back wall, waiting in the shadows. His gaze settled on Sebastian next as the prince stood before a window, staring out at the rippling water of the Minanter River bathed in the colors of twilight.

There was no movement, no acknowledgment of their presence until Sebastian spoke calmly. "What news have you?"

"It seems your instincts were correct. But I'm sure your man back there has already told you of the seneschal," Zevran said with a cocky smirk. "As for the ambush, they were merely poor bandits seeking some coin and weapons."

Sebastian spun around with a dangerous gleam in his eye, and he faced Zevran. "Are you still in the business of… disposal?"

Zevran's eyes flicked to Fenris. The lyrium warrior's brows were narrowed, but no other muscles twitched on his solemn face. Zevran's lips parted, the sly grin of a predator on his face. But it was not a look of promise, only complacency. "I am generally out of that field of expertise, but I have, on occasion, taken a job I deem worthy. Murderers of children, torturers of slaves or oppressed peoples, rapists," Zevran said, waving his hand about casually. "You know the sort. But you are not a man who would indulge in such a coward's folly, are you?"

"I am no coward!" Sebastian avowed as his fist slammed on the desk, rattling its drawers. "I am just a man seeking to reclaim what is his, and that is all." In his heart, he was vacillating between the tumult of emotions that churned his stomach. Ignoring the queasy head rush he was experiencing, he continued on, calm but firm. "What about political criminals," he asked, picking up a small pouch filled with coins. "Users who exploit their authority, abuse their status and manipulate women in power, perhaps employing blood magic to create a thrall to do their bidding?"

Zevran raised an eyebrow at that. "Are you saying this seneschal is such a man? That he is using Finola for his own gains through blood magic?"

"Perhaps, yes." Zevran shot him a questioning look. "No… no," he sighed. "But I'm convinced he has a hold on her, some unholy manner of influence and control. She would never have sought him out again otherwise."

"Could it be you have turned a blind eye to something as simple as her falling in love with another man?"

Sebastian's eyes widened, appalled Zevran would speak of Finola as if he knew her, and knew of their relationship. An unbridled rage coursed through him, a bitter betrayal clouding his vision, and he sprang to his feet. Zevran stepped back, his arms stretched out in a gesture of peace. In an instant, Sebastian lunged and grabbed Zevran by his shoulders, slamming him into the wall and pressing into Zevran with force. Accustomed to the reaction of cornered prey, Zevran waited, keeping an eye on Fenris who slowly moved out of the shadows.

Marlena was on the alert, her fingers imperceptibly twitching for the hilt of her daggers, but she remained uninvolved, her arms folded, relaxed. Her piercing eyes fixed on Zevran, allowing an arrogant and wicked smile to grow on her face as she stared at him.

Stepping further out of the darkness, Fenris advanced, and he wondered why Marlena was acting as if she were at an afternoon tea, at ease and smiling. Her lack of action served to unnerve him even more, knowing the injury the former Crow could inflict upon Sebastian. As his lyrium markings glowed faintly, Fenris took another step toward Zevran, but the assassin waved him off with a penetrating glare at the same time Sebastian's shouts echoed through the library.

"Don't you  _dare_  presume to know anything about us. My reasons are well intentioned. I love her!"

"You are fooling yourself." Zevran swallowed and waved his hand again as Fenris took another step forward, stopping any further intervention. "You feel pain, yes, and betrayal. I have been in your shoes, many times." Zevran glanced at Marlena, an unspoken history in his gaze.

Sebastian tightened his grip, fingers digging into Zevran's shoulders. "Don't you understand what this means?"

"I do. And you are angry, angry because you know I am right."

"You're damn right I'm angry!" Naked aggression spilled into Sebastian's voice, and he spoke with a fury Fenris had never heard come from him in the past. "You have no business telling me how to think or what to do. I'm different than you, different in every way!"

Zevran pressed his lips together, glaring but keeping himself from lashing out at Sebastian. For the first time since Zevran and Marlena arrived in Starkhaven, he was thoroughly maddened by the prince.

"Think before you act, Prince Vael. A foolish move may cost you more than you imagine."

Sebastian had forgotten just how dangerous Zevran was, but he was reminded then as Zevran's steely eyes bore into his, menace in his tone. If Sebastian persisted he could be gravely injured, and it would be his own fault. He said nothing more, no desire to see what he knew Zevran to be capable of, but he gave him a bold look that indicated he could compete with the assassin on any level if he wanted to. Zevran only smirked, fully understanding the defeated prince's need for bravado just then.

Sebastian averted his gaze, sickened by the situation he had created. "Maker, she has driven me to such sinful thoughts," he cried as he released his grip on Zevran. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, in control, but still shaking. "There must be some other way." Sebastian slumped in his chair, fingers pressing on his temples hard enough to make a mark. He regretted his hostility toward Zevran. He regretted everything.

Zevran looked at Marlena and tipped his head to the door so slightly only she was aware of his signal.

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "Zev, do we really need to get mixed up in this?"

"Prince Vael," Zevran addressed him. His head still hanging low, Sebastian only groaned his response. "Allow me to speak with Marlena a moment while you ponder what it is you truly want to do." Another barely perceptible grunt came from Sebastian, and Zevran shook his head in annoyance. He took Marlena by the arm, dragging her out the door into the hallway.

One guard was stationed further down the hall, out of hearing distance, but Zevran leaned in to whisper in Marlena's ear anyway. "I can see that you are not entirely  _acting_  the part of the annoyed spouse, my dear."

"I know this is an intriguing challenge for you, but honestly, Zev, this is out of our hands."

"Marlena,  _dolcezza_ ," he said in his most gracious voice. "The Prince is coming apart at the seams. He needs our help, but more importantly, Finola needs it. She did get me out of a serious bind a few years ago. Besides, we can go back to Kirkwall and be handsomely paid. She said so herself."

"I know this is more about the hopeless romantic in you, Zev."

He couldn't help but laugh at her observation. "Perhaps. In any case, we need to leave  _and_  earn coin at the same time."

"Fine, fine. I'll play along for now." Marlena sighed, weary of the tedium weighing on her since they arrived in Starkhaven.

Zevran shifted and leaned into the doorway, his highly sensitive ears honing in on the whispers in the library. Fenris' dulcet voice was attempting to reason with Sebastian.

"…as I have said repeatedly. I mean no offense, Sebastian, but you must know by now that Hawke has only ever thought of herself."

"You don't know Fenris, you don't know the things she's said to me, the love she's shown for me. It's Wyndham. He's changed her mind somehow, forced her to… she  _must_  still have feelings for me."

"She simply came here to break things off. I'm surprised she had the decency to do it in person."  _You foolish man_. Sebastian's head lifted, looking at Fenris through suffering, watery eyes, and Fenris felt guilty for even thinking such things right now. His friend was in pain, his best friend, and the man who had taken him in when he had nowhere to go, and all he could think about was how much he hated Finola Hawke. "If Isabela were here, even she would face up to something like this."

"Please, Fenris. No more of that talk. I know you never cared for Finola, but you owe her, too."

"That debt has been paid many times over. I won't forget how she helped me, but it is no longer something she can hold over my head."

"You say that as if she used you. When did she  _ever_  use your freedom against you?"

"My friend, there are many things you have chosen to ignore, many… questionable deeds performed by our  _Champion_  that we kept quiet about. Many were against the Qunari prior to the confrontation with the Arishok. Maybe it is time I inform you, if only to end this fraudulent relationship with her for the last time."

"Tell me then, Fenris. I'm sure I can give a reasonable explanation for her actions."

"Don't you recall her handing Ketojan over to be killed before we understood that he would immolate himself anyway? That was just the first sign of her callousness."

"She did that with the best of intentions, to save us all," he countered.

"You weren't there when we confronted Petrice, when the Qunari surrounded us in Varnell's refuge. Did you not wonder why Petrice lived another day after that? Hawke… she killed a Qunari prisoner in cold blood. He was tied up. Helpless. Hawke only wanted the money and advantages Petrice offered her. She didn't care who died in order for her to achieve that goal either. She told the Viscount to burn the Qunari bodies to hide their torture, all the while trying to cover up the slaughter she permitted."

"And you are sure of this?" he asked, his eyes silently pleading for Fenris to change his story, to offer him a different truth. "It seems… unlike Finola."

"She helped Petrice frame the Qunari for Saemus Dumar's murder as well. Even the Grand Cleric believed the Qunari killed Saemus. It's no wonder you were deceived as well."

"For what?" Sebastian rose from the chair, his heart thundering in his chest, and his knees almost too weak to support him. "What did she gain?"

"Diplomatic support. Hawke knew the Arishok would eventually retaliate, and she wanted to ensure she had the Chantry's support should something happen to the Viscount. You've been blinded, my friend, blinded by her lies and deceptions, fooled into thinking she only accepted her position for you. She never loved you. All she wanted was more money and power."

"This is astonishing, Fenris. Why have you waited so long to tell me these things?" Sebastian shook his head, unable to resign himself to the plain truth. "That she did these deeds of her own accord... She  _must_  have been counseled to do so. It's Wyndham's influence. That snake! He's the one seeking power and-"

"My apologies, Prince Vael," Zevran interrupted, concerned with the direction the conversation had turned. "Have you a decision?"

Bleary-eyed, Sebastian lifted his head to look at Zevran. "Everything I've worked for, my wishes for our future… gone in an instant."

"I know you may not wish to hear this, but you have accomplished much in these last months. And all without Finola by your side. Now you have a son to think of, an heir, a bright young man to complete your destiny. Life is short, Sebastian. The Maker has given you so much and yet you act as though you have nothing."

"Do not patronize me. I am well aware of how blessed I've been."

"Good. Then you realize the people of Starkhaven are devoted to you, they respect you. What do you think they would say if they saw you now, hm?"

"That is not my concern."

"If for no other reason, you owe it to Arthur to move on, to love him in a way only a father can. Think of what your life would be like if you forced her to stay here. Finola will grow to hate you, resent you for the rest of your days, and it will weigh upon you until you self-destruct. Then, you will be of no use to yourself, your son, or Starkhaven."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sebastian staggered away from Zevran toward his desk. He sat down with his head in his hands and concentrated on breathing. The bitter thoughts of Finola's duplicity and Bran's influence over her were rapidly building into a raging storm in his mind. All he could see was Bran Wyndham's head on a spike. Sebastian prayed for strength.

* * *

When Bran awoke, he did so with a loud moan. His whole body ached, and it took his senses a few seconds to adjust to his surroundings. He opened his eyes weakly, his face pale and sweaty, and he noticed his shirt was stained with blood drops. The unease filling his mind was nothing compared to the sudden panic he felt when he heard the shuffling of feet behind him.

Varric appeared and hovered over him, laughing as he knelt down. "All hail the seneschal, he's finally awake."

Bran sneered. "Fuck you, Tethras," he said, touching the slight bump on his head with his fingertips. Varric's face screwed up for just a moment, and suddenly Bran was unsure whether that was the right thing to have said.

"You're not my type, Wyndham." Varric took him by the arm and helped him to his feet, chuckling devilishly. "I never did like carrot tops."

Bran forced a smile then. "Apologies, Varric. I'm not myself."

"Yes you are. Eh, Hawke's said much worse to me. You  _do_  make a perfect pair, you know." Squinting at Bran's face, Varric assessed his bruises. "How's your head? Got a pretty good cuff to it earlier."

"No kidding," he groaned, gingerly touching the small lumps on his temple. "Who hit me? Did you see?"

"Nope. Probably the guard outside the door. They're brutish types, you know. Definitely not Fenris though. He was too busy hustling me in here. Why did you resist anyway? Hawke always said you were sharp, but I'm beginning to think she's gone too soft where you're concerned."

"Certainly not one of my brightest moments, I assure you."

"Well, she's yours to deal with when we get out of here. Put in a good word for me, will you?"

"Of course. I'm well aware that I owe you, Varric." This time, Bran didn't restrain himself and let go a short laugh. "So, what is the plan now?"

"We wait. Did you think we were going ram the door and make a daring escape? I only write stories about that kind of shit. In reality, it's not as easy as-"

"Damn it, Varric! This is insanity! Finola needs us…  _I_  need..." Bran bit back the rest of his admission and sighed. "They  _will_  they come for us soon," he stated with certainty, although not convincing himself, or Varric based on the dwarf's cynical grunt.

"Well, let's hope so. I'm hungrier than a suckling nug." Varric settled in a giant leather chair thumbing through a book, his head not even close to reaching the top of the backrest.

Perturbed by Varric's ridiculous calm, Bran paced the library like a caged animal, his eyes angry slits as the minutes continued to pass uncounted. His fists were clenched in tight balls, his hair unusually messy from running his fingers through it. He was well beyond frustrated.

"Are you always like this?" Varric asked as Bran paused for a moment to stare at the locked door. "Hey, Wyndham! Did you hear me?"

" _I_  am busy racking my brain for a solution." Bran's expression shifted to one of blatant incomprehension and he gave a snort. "How can you just sit there and read a bloody book?"

"Biding my time, man." Varric closed the manuscript, keeping a finger in between the held pages. Bran was an extremely stubborn man, but Varric appreciated his tenacity given Bran's political position. With a small grunt, he allowed him that, considering his obvious concern for Hawke. "Look, I've been held before, but never in such luxurious accommodations. Just making the most of it. You should try doing the same some time."

"We have to get out of here. Vael must be losing his sanity to keep us in here. Finola is captive and she's injured, no doubt too weak to help herself. What if … should he hurt her, or do anything to- "

"Choir Boy won't harm her," Varric asserted. "How many times do I have to tell you that?" he launched from the chair, dropping the book with a thud. "Those lumps on your head seem to have grown. Look like nug turds now."

"Fucking Vael and his lackeys. When I get to that egotistical prick he's going to wish-"

"Whoa, big guy! I suggest you rein it in," Varric interrupted loudly. "He's every bit as dangerous as you think he is. Besides, Hawke's gonna be pissed as shit if anything happens to you, and I  _do not_  want to be the one staring at the tip of her dagger before it puts my eye out."

"There must be a way…." Bran whipped around and stared at Varric wide-eyed. "The boot knife!" he blurted. "I have a small knife, Varric."

"You're just telling me this  _now_? Andraste's tits, Wyndham!"

"I don't normally walk around armed. Damn it!" Bran bent over and pulled the small knife from its sheath inside his knee-high riding boots, briefly admiring the handle made from tiger's eye and polished to a silky luster of golden-brown. "It was meant to be a gift, a surprise for her. I had it made from one of the larger gems she's collected over the years."

"Right." Varric drawled. "The tigress thing and all."

"She… told you?" Bran felt a flush burn his cheeks, a rare occasion.

"Don't worry, Wyndham. I promised I would only use it against her in the most dire of situations."

"That insufferable woman  _cannot_  be trusted," Bran whispered with a sad smile. His stomach twisted, nausea sweeping over him. "Dear Maker, keep her safe." Any other day, he'd be livid, appalled she had told someone about their intimate moments. Instead, it only served to make him agonize over her wellbeing more, silently vowing he would make every lost moment up to her when they were finally reunited. "Can you get us out of here with it? Pick the lock perhaps?"

"Maybe, but," Varric paused, leaning in to have a proper look at the lock on the door. "Blade's kind of wide for this type of bolt. Let me see…."

Emotions swam around in Bran's head; a whirlpool on an open sea allowing him no reprieve, no ease. Bile rose in his throat, images of Finola being held against her will, a prisoner, probably drugged, tied to a bed, and kept quiet with a gag, all with Vael's seal of approval.

The sound of a voice, a woman telling the guard he was needed in the kitchens, and then a light tap on the library door suddenly pulled Bran from his thoughts. Varric instinctively moved back and forced the boot knife back into Bran's hands, motioning for him to hide in its sheath. The clicking of the lock sent both men into silence.

"Are you gentlemen all right?" Dorinda asked as she stepped into the library where Varric and Bran were being held.

"I've been worse," Varric answered, his brows pinched.

"I think I've done enough to rile Prince Vael already. He does not intend to hurt either one of you, I'm sure, but keeping you locked in a room is simply not acceptable."

Varric quickly moved toward the mage, disquiet in his gaze. "Where's Hawke?"

"She's fine, resting in her room," Dorinda assured as she looked at Bran. A brief, blue glow emanated from her fingertips, and Bran felt the healing energy spread across his forehead as the lump disappeared. "Better, yes?"

Bran looked at Dorinda, grateful for the power of magic. "Yes. And thank you for intervening." She simply nodded. "I want to see her, I  _must_  see Finola. Please."

"Follow me."

Varric and Bran trailed after the mage to a chamber diagonally across the hall. The proximity of Finola's room was not lost on either of them, both shaking their heads and mumbling under their breath.

Dorinda pushed open the door and Bran froze, his eyes taking in everything. Across the smooth floor, a couch was positioned at the far end of the chamber, under a window, occasionally obscured by fluttering white curtains. Finola's armor and weapons were arranged carefully, a neat pile of her second skin. Bran felt his heart seize when he looked at the bed. There lay Finola, her face relaxed but pallid. He noticed her hair, as he always did, but it was tousled and damp with sweat, lacking its usual fullness and luster. He ran to her bedside.

"Fin, can you hear me?" Panicked, he looked towards the mage. "What's wrong with her?"

"Stand back and I'll try to reverse the effect of the potion. She may still be a little foggy afterward though." Dorinda drank some lyrium and began casting, a healing mantra coming from her lips repeatedly.

"Finola?" She was never a wilting flower of a woman, never frail or defeated, but that was all Bran saw in her right then, and it chilled him to the core. "Fin, it's me. Open your eyes, damn it!"

Finola felt someone's hands on her, whispering something she couldn't understand, but it sounded like…  _Bran!_  "Mnmm… Bran? Maker, is it… you?" she asked barely above a whisper.

"Yes, I'm here now, Fin."

Though his voice was far away, she could make out what he was saying. Focusing clearly enough to recognize the one and only face she'd longed to see, Finola wearily put her arms around his neck and breathed him in.

Overwhelming emotion crashed over Bran, Finola's tears dampening his cheeks as he buried his face in her neck. "Damn it woman, your hair-brained plans nearly..." He clenched his teeth, holding back the horrifying thoughts he'd had earlier. "I will  _never_  go along with something like this again. Never."

Finola struggled to breathe and talk at the same time. "Good… to see you, too… handsome." Then she blinked, more than a few times, and Bran was still there every time she opened her eyes. "I know he held you both." Keeping his emotions in check, Bran simply nodded. "And they took your weapons, I'm sure." Feeling a sudden rejuvenation, she looked to the mage. "Dorinda, thank you for helping us. Give me all the healing you can. Please." Dorinda nodded, her hands glowing a brighter blue than usual. Finola gazed at Bran again as he spoke.

"They must not have suspected I'd be carrying a weapon given my clothing and status. I still have a boot knife."

Finola shifted to sit up, making a face at a pinch of pain running up her side. "Give it to me then."

"Fin, are you strong enough to do this, to take on Vael and whomever he has with him?" Bran frowned, thinking seriously about her request. While familiar with her death-defying behaviors, putting himself in her shoes was always remarkably difficult, particularly now, taking into account her weakened condition. "Varric may be better suited at the moment."

"Maker's balls," she scoffed. "I don't think it will come down to that, but in case it does, someone taller than a child has to be prepared to defend us."

"I heard that, Hawke," Varric shouted from the doorway, "But… if you think you're up to it, be my guest."

Finola pinned the mage with a stare, and Dorinda unloosed more rejuvenation and healing power. Then she reached into a pocket and handed Finola a vial. "Drink this, all of it. I'll leave you alone for now." Finola smiled warmly at the mage, then turned her attention back to Bran.

Bran retrieved the knife from its sheath and held it out for Finola to see as she drank down the entire vial. "This was meant to be a gift, and certainly given under more settled circumstances."

Giving her the knife was a true expression of the faith he had in her. "Oh, you had it made… the tiger's eye. It's beautiful. You never cease to amaze me," she breathed with a smile. At seeing his nervous but tender smile, she blurted out all the frustration held back since she saw him last. "Bran, I was so frightened for you," she said, her words continuing in one long rambling. "Sebastian is furious and I'm so afraid of what he might do because we're going to have a baby and he has another son who wants only power and-"

"Slow down, Fin! What is this about a baby? You did say that word, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. We're going to have a child."

"You're serious?"

She nodded, and the smile she had been holding back enveloped her whole face. She reclaimed his hand and trailed it from her temple to her cheek, tears forming in her eyes.

"Y-You're with child?" he stammered, his eyes wide with shock.

"I've never seen you so tongue-tied before, Bran." The beginnings of a smile flickered around his lips, and it suddenly became so real to her, her smile only widened. "I am with child,  _your_  child. The mage confirmed the babe will be here in seven months or so, by Haring."

"Maker's breath, Fin. A baby." A joyous feeling bloomed deep down and expanded to fill his whole body, making him feel lightheaded, almost giddy. Soon, he found himself grinning like an absolute idiot.

"So, you're happy then?"

He dropped to his knees beside the bed. "How could I not be?"

Feeling much stronger, she sat up, threw her arms around his neck, and peppered his throat with tiny kisses, enjoying the safe and warm intimacy of his embrace. He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes, and allowed the joy on her face to wash over him like a healing balm.

Time seemed to slow, and it was only when Finola heard her name being whispered near the door that she reacted. Her gaze flew from Bran's face when Sebastian marched into the room, Zevran, Fenris, and Sebastian's son, Arthur, only a few steps behind. In a movement at complete odds with the calm poise of his demeanor, Sebastian reached out and brutally shoved Bran to the floor, his head hitting the hard bed frame. Finola's heart sped up and her breathing labored, her body starting to shudder as her mind raced.

"Sebastian!" Zevran's voice rang out. "Do not do this!"

Sebastian stepped forward, his dagger gripped tightly in one hand. "This man should die for the pain he's caused," he stated grimly. "Die a thousand deaths."

"You arrogant… son of a.…" Bran swayed as he pushed himself to his knees, struggling in an effort to rise to his feet. Fenris retreated into the shadows near the window, ready to fight, but giving Sebastian the time and space he needed. Arthur stood at his father's side, a partial smirk pushing up his cheek.

Sebastian reached out with his free hand and grabbed a fistful of Bran's hair, viciously yanking him back to his knees. He laid the edge of his dagger against the exposed column of Bran's throat. "Not another move, Wyndham," he growled. "Or I will slit your throat and end your wretched existence now." Bran froze, taking shallow breaths as his eyes trained on Finola.

Anger forced a surge of protectiveness to pulse through Finola's body. "Sebastian!" she gasped, jerking forward and springing from the bed. In a burst of fury, she had her arm around Arthur's neck, the boot knife at his jugular. "I swear if you so much as draw a drop of Bran's blood, I will kill your son where he stands." Feeling the pressure on his neck, Arthur didn't claw at what he knew he couldn't overpower. "Don't think for a moment I won't do it," Finola hissed.

Finola's deadly whisper tore Sebastian's heart apart. His head snapped up and he stared at her usually affectionate eyes, now frozen with hostility. As Finola pressed the knife closer to Arthur's throat, Sebastian released Bran, ignoring the shuffling sounds of feet behind the tense scene. Bran scurried backward toward Varric, never taking his eyes off Finola as she continued to squeeze Arthur's neck. Zevran moved to stand near Sebastian, drawing his own dagger as he grew closer, Varric not far behind. Sebastian opened his mouth to reply angrily, but never got that far as Zevran took advantage of the disturbance and stepped behind him, placing his dagger upon Sebastian, the blade flush against his back. Sebastian's head snapped around and he glared over his shoulder. "Take you hands off me, Arainai!"

Finola released Arthur and lunged, punching him in the face and sending him flying to the floor. With Arthur out of the way, she focused on Sebastian, keeping the blade close to her side.

"Let it go, Sebastian… let  _her_  go," Zevran whispered for only Sebastian to hear.

"I will  _not_!" Sebastian roared, his chest rising and falling deeply as he stood tall. Foolish pride had gotten the better of him, until a harsh grip on Sebastian's chin forced him to look at Finola, into those cold blue eyes. He flinched at her touch and it was then Sebastian realized she, too, had a knife pressing at his side. "Why are you doing this?" he snarled. She glared right back at him, tightening her grip on his chin.

"Stop, Sebastian.  _Please_. Just… stop fighting."

Her desperate tone made him pause. His hard breathing, the tightness of his muscles, the burning in his soul, all made him feel dizzy and faraway. Time was not moving fast enough and his movements were too slow to catch up as he slouched and sat on the bed. She looked down at his motionless body adorned with the regal, snow-white armor of a prince. He ran his hands through his disheveled hair and straightened his shoulders. His eyes were open, his lips slightly parted as he stared blankly across the room. Everything about him looked pure and holy, and it was almost impossible for her to believe that only a moment ago, he had violent and sinful thoughts.

Sebastian looked at Finola with an odd expression, and then understanding flashed over his face. It was over, the altercation, their relationship, everything. He felt the loss keenly, and it knocked the wind out of him. For what seemed like minutes, he could only blink at her.

"Why?" His question was barely audible, but heard nonetheless. Seconds went by, only the sound of heavy breathing as everyone stood motionless. "Why me?" Finola looked at Bran and then Varric, signaling him to keep everyone away from her and Sebastian, including Bran. The room was still quiet, but for the general shuffle of footsteps backing away from them in understanding. "Why  _him_?"

"I don't know." Finola glanced at Bran again, so glad to see he was mostly unharmed, but no smile came to her face then. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and tears formed at the edges, threatening to spill. She didn't feel ashamed though, even as they fell, because they were not tears of pain or fear or even guilt, only freedom and joy, a combination of all the raw emotions pulsing through her knowing Bran had come through unscathed. "I know I am the one who ruined your plans _,_ " she said, her voice slowly getting louder. "I'm the one who took a lover and betrayed her best friend. The best friend who  _promised_  he'd be there for me, Sebastian, only you weren't always there for me. He was."

"You have ruined everything just to be with that despicable man." Sebastian felt as though his heart had been blown apart, shards of love and hate piercing his very soul. What should have been a faithful and sweet fulfillment was now a crushing blow; a dark and shameful moment of his life he never dreamed would come to pass. "I never really knew you, did I? I didn't listen closely enough, didn't see clearly enough."

"You know it was never easy for us, Sebastian. We were always… disagreeing on core beliefs, not understanding each other's goals or reasons for our actions. It seemed we were constantly running against the wind, plowing forward without a thought for the past, or the present. It just wasn't meant to be."

"That easy, is it?" he asked, animosity burning in his eyes.

"No. It is not easy at all. This… seeing the anger and pain in your eyes… I  _am_  sorry, more than you will ever know."

Everyone watching understood the emotion on her face as she stepped closer to Sebastian and spoke, even Bran. One by one, they filed out of the room, Arthur being helped by Zevran. The last one in line to leave, Bran turned around as he grabbed the handle to close the door, and Finola's eyes went to his. With an encouraging smile and nod, Bran winked his eye, allowing her to finish it with Sebastian alone, and she loved him madly for it.

Finola sat down on the bed beside Sebastian. In a weak moment, he shook his head and sighed, even though he was still entitled to act with decisive anger.

"This is a hard lesson for us all," she conceded.

Looking at his hand, he spun the ring she had given him, sadly remembering the verse.  _Blessed are the righteous._ With one pull, it was off his finger and he looked into her eyes."Take this, if only to remember more pleasant moments."

"You keep it, please. I won't forget what we've shared."

"You were right, I was thinking of Starkhaven and not of what you needed… as a woman, as a lover, or a friend." Then he accepted her apology, claiming responsibility himself. "No one is perfect, least of all me."

The gap between them narrowed as she moved closer. "I've never known a man like you, Sebastian. And I suspect I'll never meet another such as you in my lifetime."

The way she brushed his hair away from his reddened eyes reminded him of the day she promised herself to him. He drifted back in time, remembering a day he now wanted to forget, then jerked away from her touch. His hands gripped the bed sheets unconsciously. "Fenris told me about your dealings with the Qunari, with Sister Petrice. It's all true, isn't it?"

Finola nodded and dropped her head. "My deception was not completely selfish. I knew you trusted me and… I just wanted you to love me, but if you had known… Well, we both know how that would have ended."

"But the years wasted to get to  _this_  end, Fin. I did trust you to tell me the truth, no matter the outcome. Another error in judgment it seems."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize anymore," he said flatly, no effort made to hide his disdain for her.

Again and again he was reminded of what it was like to be excited and alive. Every frustrating, irksome, anxious moment with her reminded him of what having a tomorrow with her could bring. He swallowed thickly and asked the question burning on his tongue. "Tell me, what is it about him, what… how did he capture your heart so easily?"

"It wasn't easy, not at all. I needed a friend and he was simply there for me the many times no one else was. I didn't know what had changed between you and me until he left for Markham."

"And I judged you," he admitted. "I suppose my vows had something to with it as well."

Impatient to leave, her mood was growing as bitter as his was. "I won't lie to you. I did curse those vows daily. But I knew they were sacred to you. I never asked you to cast them aside for me, did I?" she snapped.

"No, you didn't." He looked at the door to avoid making eye contact, repressing the tears stinging behind his eyes.

"Sebastian, I will still assist you any way I can as viscountess."  _And it will help Kirkwall as well._ A sly smile came to her lips at the thought.

How he hadn't recognized she was as shrewd as a serpent, maddened him even more. "That's… good of you. Anything for Kirkwall."

Finola ignored his dig, no point in a quarrel with him now. "I should go."  _Get me out of this Maker-forsaken fortress, and fast._  "May I just say one more thing?"

His head shook in disbelief. She had a lot of nerve asking more of him, but that was what made her Finola Hawke, the brash Champion of Kirkwall. Tension filled his muscles. "You will anyway," he grumbled.

"Keep an eye on Arthur. I know how you feel about him, but I have a gut feeling about his motives. I'm not so sure he's trustworthy."

"Don't worry about me. I've managed to stay alive in your absence this long, _Hawke_." He said her name with such contempt, she winced slightly, but Sebastian felt nothing but disgust for her now. The sooner she was gone from Starkhaven, the better. "Yes, you and your  _entourage_  should leave."

She nodded somberly, forcing herself to rise from the bed and walk to the couch to gather up her armor.  _He's in shock,_  she told herself.  _He_ _'ll get over it._

As she glanced at him, he continued to stare at the floor, his words bitter and callous. "You have made your bed, Hawke. Now you must lie in it."

Those harsh words were directed at her, but she knew he was speaking of himself as well. Her patience had worn thin though. His last comment was dangerously close to territory she did not wish to walk into.

She pushed down on the handle of the door and opened it. Several guards stood just outside, along with Bran, Varric, Fenris, as well as Isabela, who showed up surprisingly late for the party, all desperately trying to look inconspicuous as Finola came into view. Before making her exit, Finola addressed Sebastian once more. "Take care of yourself, Prince Vael."

Sebastian didn't move, didn't speak, the silence heavy in the air. Then her gaze swept across the group in the doorway until her eyes met Bran's. He recognized the confident gleam in her eyes as he took her hand and from her lips sprang a resolute, dazzling smile.

Sebastian watched in misery as she walked out of his life, the door closing behind her. He breathed her name one last time, "Finola," before his tears spilled, and he didn't make an effort to control them either. He was lost, empty, but most of all, he was alone.

Love.

That powerful word did the same to Sebastian as it did to his father. It had weakened his father's defenses, allowing the slaughter of his family so many years before. However, for the period of time Sebastian spent with Finola, as friend and lover, love also melted the ice around his heart. And that, he would never forget.

He  _would_  allow his defenses to weaken again, he would leap off the edge for another woman, someday. A part of him hated that fact, but another part of him looked forward to the day he would move closer to the edge and fall again. He didn't know how it would feel when it happened, but he did know one thing.

The next time, he would not reach the bottom.

* * *

The previous week had taken its toll on Finola, but she was back in her home with Bran,  _their_  home, where she was relaxed. The burning ache in her side had passed, and she barely noticed the little scar left behind by the marauder's blade. Even when she felt a twinge of pain, Bran would take it away, and with it, the memories of those days in Starkhaven. Bran made everything easier. For the first time in days she laughed, now able to sleep without worrying about lies and deceptions, the unyielding grip around her heart gone. She breathed easier, thought freely, without uncertainties. She smiled and enjoyed the sunrise, the birds singing, children laughing, and the gentle breeze that blew her hair back.

 _Is this pure bliss?_ she wondered.

Finola had almost forgotten what it was like to be content with  _everything_. Backing away from the window, she went to lie down on the bed, never noticing how plump the pillows were and how smooth the blankets were, until now. Taking a deep breath, she slowly closed her eyes and savored the warm rays of the sun passing through the open window, letting the gentle breeze come in, listening only to the sounds of Hightown below.

Quietly, Bran sauntered to the couch near the bed and sat down, wearily rolling his shoulders and twisting his stiff neck. "And there's my lazy kitten, lounging in the sun."

Finola stretched out her arms and legs, the soft purr coming from her throat growing into a roar. "I am  _no_  kitten!"

"I'll tell you who's definitely not a meek kitten. Our resident Hero of Ferelden, Marlena. Her claws rival yours."

"Nice thing to say to me, the mother of your unborn child," she said with an impish grin. "So you settled them into the guest quarters?"

"I did, and she was somewhat critical of the accommodations."

"You're kidding? As if she's had it any better on the run. Psh." Finola looked down and twisted her Champion's ring, not aware of the worried expression she wore. "She's lucky to have such a skilled assassin devoted to her, protecting her." She looked up at Bran, his brooding plain as day.

"What in the Maker's name is  _that_  look for?"

"You mean rather than some advisor to a high and mighty political figure?"

Finola threw her legs over the side of the bed and pinned him with a glare. "I would have it no other way, Bran. Besides, I'll whip you into shape yet."

 _Ah yes, just like old times._  But when he saw her teeth nip at her lower lip, biting anxiously, he didn't buy her easy riposte. "Fin, are you actually thinking your situation is similar to the Warden's?"

She sighed and shrugged. "Isn't it?"

"No," he said firmly. "That's not to say it can't change, but as of now, you are one of the most respected people in Kirkwall. No one has questioned your decisions thus far."

" _She_  is the Hero of Ferelden. Someone questioned her motives and actions, and look how she ended up. I've heard the rumors, but to me, they are far from what I would consider a good enough reason for her self-exile. Can you honestly tell me I will never have to deal with that very same hypocrisy?"

"In my professional opinion, there is nothing questionable in your past that would warrant the sort of inquisition she has had to avoid."

"Give it time. Cullen always seems to be looking for the moment he can prove how unfit I am. I'm sure I'll hear exactly what he thinks of me when we meet him tomorrow. And when he hears we are to have a baby… Maker, he'll be pestering me like a mosquito." Finola tamed the urge to continue whining about the things she could not change. Sitting down next to Bran, she shimmied closer, her hand stroking his arm. "Look, I don't want to discuss this anymore. Just know that I wouldn't make you come with me if things did change. That's no life for a child."

"That's no life  _anyone_  should have to lead. But if it came to that," Bran paused and reined in his sudden anxiety, "we would leave as a family, and nothing less." She leaned in to kiss him and when they pulled apart, he was smiling. His hand smoothed over her stomach, stroking and rubbing gently. "Speaking of children," he spoke up after a moment, "how is our little boy today?"

"Why do you want a boy? You already have a son."

"Actually, I have no preference," he said, smiling. "As long as he, or she, has ten fingers and ten toes, I'll be happy."

" _She_  is making me very tired and very hungry."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "And very cranky, too." She playfully tossed a handkerchief at him, but his face turned serious as he caught it. "Finola?"

"Hm?" She waited for him to speak, curious about the odd expression he wore.

"Marry me. Today. Well, tomorrow, as it is almost sundown."

"Desperate?" she giggled as she rested her head against his shoulder. "Why the rush? Did you lose all your money gambling?"

"And what if I had? Would you still want me if I were a destitute, yet handsome, wretch?"

"You have several vices, but thankfully, gambling is not one of them."

"You didn't answer my question."

"As long as you were still handsome, I'd keep you around," she said, scratching her suddenly very itchy nose. "At least for a time."

"You are a cruel woman, Finola Hawke… Wyndham."

"You haven't  _properly_  asked, you know," she chided casually. "I mean you sort of asked in Markham, but… I would very much like to see you on bended knee, begging for my hand."

Finola's eyes widened as Bran dropped down on one knee, delivering a proposal in his most theatrical drawl. "Finola Lucinda Hawke, you are all the woman I shall  _ever_  need. Will you please _, please_  marry me and make me the happiest man in all of Thedas?"

The stitch in her side pinched as she restrained her laughter, barely getting the next words out.  _Maker, I love this man._  "What? No ring?"

"So little faith in me, my dear." From deep in a pocket, Bran withdrew a small box. He held it in his hands and slowly lifted the lid off, picking up the golden ring within. Holding it out to her, she saw a brilliant sapphire glinting in the sunlight.

"Oh, Bran… it's lovely, and so big. It must have cost… more than a horse!"

"You'd compare this fine piece to a filthy animal?" he asked, appalled.

"It was the first thing that came to mind," she said glibly. "It must have cost several months worth of income."

"You certainly know how to take the romance out of a proposal."

A bit flustered, Finola held out her hand and allowed him to slip the ring onto her finger. "I'm sorry. I'm just… I'm stunned you would spend so much on me."

"And why wouldn't I?" he asked while admiring his purchase. "This is one of the few times in my life I can give you a significant token of my love. I could cut out my heart and hand it to you if you'd prefer."

"Now  _that's_  romantic!"

"Just give me your answer already."

Finola stared at him, stunned and slack-jawed as a wave of nausea swept over her. Her hand moved to her stomach, but the sickening feeling passed quickly.

Bran felt his heart skip a beat, barely maintaining a precarious balance as it sank into his stomach. "Are you… having second thoughts?" Then he noticed her eyes glazing for a moment as her hand slid from her stomach to her lap. "Or is something wrong?"

"It must be a pregnancy thing, this queasy feeling. But… you  _are_  serious about getting married right away, aren't you?" He nodded twice. "Yes!" she exclaimed victoriously, launching herself at him and almost knocking him out of the chair they were sharing.

"What?" he asked blankly after recovering from his near fall.

"I said yes, you ridiculous man!" She laughed, wrapping her arms him and kissing him hungrily, before moving to straddle his hips. She tore away from the kiss unexpectedly, her lips just a hairsbreadth from his as she breathed deeply and declared, "We should have sex."

His hearty laugh echoed off the walls, and he pulled her closer. "You are a very strange woman at times, Tigress, but I love you anyway."

"I love you  _more_ ," she asserted like an impudent child.

"Do shut up already, Fin." He crushed his lips to hers in a searing kiss and they cuddled close together.

She settled her palms on his chest and felt the pounding of his heart. Or was it her heart? In one smooth movement, he scooped her up and headed for the bed.

"I've missed you," she mumbled, holding him tighter.

"I've missed you, too." His lips trailed down her collarbone to the sensitive flesh of her heaving breasts.

Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She offered him a possessive smile of desire and need, her laughter and tears merging, knowing her future was with him until the end of their days. "Now I'm sure of it," she whispered.

"Sure of what?"

"Pure bliss." She closed her eyes dreamily as his tongue traced a hot path to her earlobe. "I know it exists now." She felt his lips curve into a smile against her neck.

"I'm sure you won't think the same when your belly is as big as a wine barrel and you're waddling through Hightown," he teased, kissing her lightly on the lips.

Her skin began to tingle and flush with anticipation, his soft caresses growing more powerful by the second. "I can't  _wait_  to prove you wrong... husband."

"Neither can I, wife."

His hands were  _everywhere_  on her body, and all of a sudden she became happily aware of her nakedness.

"I am yours, Bran, body and soul," she avowed, "and you are mine." She felt him instantly harden and she leaned in, her nose brushing against his cheek, an adoring smile on her face. "I need you... now."

Then he knew they couldn't wait any longer. He lowered his body, penetrating her so slowly they both cried out at the emotion coursing through them. He thrust into her, harder, faster, deeper, and she moaned louder than any other time he could remember. He kept an unrelenting pace, until her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed, as her orgasm washed over her. He felt her walls clenching around him and he came with her, his head falling onto her chest.

They made love as quickly as it took to walk from their room to the kitchen, but they didn't care, not wanting to wait another second to join, to love, to just  _be_.

Finola knew very few things in the world lasted forever, but when Bran held her tight as she curled into his side, she knew they were an inseparable entity  _meant_  to last forever.

For once in her life, she was completely speechless.


	15. Obstacles

"Come on, Zev! It's almost daybreak," Marlena scolded as she tapped her foot on the stone base of the hearth. Finola couldn't help grinning at Marlena's histrionic sigh.

"Patience, woman," he shot back. "Brasca! This must be repaired… just…. so!" Zevran beamed when he finally tied off his worn out boots with expert knots, sewing up the leather around his calf. "It is done, and _now_ we can leave."

"Maybe a stop at the armorer is in order," Finola suggested as she handed Marlena a pouch full of gold. The Wardens' eyes caught and held Finola's, a slight nod and an even slighter smile were offered as additional thanks. Zevran's voice broke their equally supportive gazes.

"No need. It is perfect," Zevran boasted, kicking out his booted foot, and admiring his handiwork. "My skills are every bit as good as the finest leather armorers."

Marlena snorted and tossed Zevran his pack. "When we get to Nevarra City we'll equip ourselves with new armor. I hear it's a beautiful city with more statues than any other in Thedas." Polite conversation was all Marlena could manage, and Finola and Bran understood more than they let on.

"I've heard the same," Bran offered. "Someday we should travel there for an extended trip, Fin."

"Perhaps a honeymoon?" Zevran said happily.

His optimism was contagious and Finola smiled sweetly, studying the Antivan's beautiful face, more weatherworn now than she remembered. He was an honorable man, even though she assumed his help was more financially based than humanitarian.

"I, or rather, _we_ ," Finola said, glancing at Bran, "are grateful for your help in Starkhaven. You have a very useful gift for smooth talk in dire situations."

"And you and my wife have similar tastes in men, it seems." When Zevran smiled at her roguishly, Finola felt her heart near to bursting with gratitude. She threw her arms around the elf, hugging him fiercely and thanking Zevran with words only meant for his ears.

Zevran pulled away, his hand lightly gliding across her cheek. "Marlena and I wish you every happiness, now and in the future. Your kindness toward us will not be forgotten."

"Yes, thank you, Finola." Marlena stepped forward. "If our paths were to cross again someday… well, it would be nice." Zevran saw a fleeting sadness in his wife's gaze. Life on the move left no time for friends, for socializing, for girl-talk, as she liked to call it. And like a true hero, Marlena wore her loneliness like armor, coming off more arrogant than wistful, but Zevran knew the truth of it.

Finola reached out and embraced the Hero of Ferelden. "It has been an honor to have you with us. Know that you have a friend here in Kirkwall if you ever find yourself in need of one again."

Bran shook Zevran's hand and offered Marlena a quick embrace, whispering something that made her laugh. For all the inconvenience the Arainais' stay had caused, Finola was touched by their plight and only wished them well.

As the couple disappeared into the shadows of dawn, Finola sighed. "I wonder where they're really going."

Bran shrugged. "I know where _we_ are going though. Come, the Keep awaits our return."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I'm dreading this afternoon."

"Just remember, the _Divine_ appointed Reynard Dering as First Enchanter. He is a highly esteemed mage, and will, no doubt, be a genius."

"Yeah, yeah. Bully for him." Finola opened the front door, pausing to say one last thing before leaving. "Are you sure you don't want to retire?"

"Maker, no! One of us has to earn an income to keep up with future childcare expenses." He saw her shiver a little. Bran wasn't sure if it was from the crisp morning air, her thoughts of their day at the Keep, or his comment. "I think you need to rid yourself of that pessimism, Fin." Self-reproach drove him to crush his lips to hers, capturing them in a heated kiss.

His hands came up to cradle her face gently, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again, but instead, he wrapped both arms around her and tucked his chin over her shoulder.

"Damn it, Bran. Don't tease me so early in the morning."

"I am comforting, not teasing."

Slowly, he swayed her back and forth in the embrace, his warmth fusing with hers, and she reveled in it, no lectures about professionalism or appropriateness in the privacy of her home. Her sour mood lifted immediately and she smiled back at him, placing a soft, whisper of a kiss on his cheek, delivering what she couldn't express with words.

"Hold that thought for about ten hours, my dear."

"It will be a challenge, but I shall succeed," she said melodramatically.

"See that you do." A playful slap on her backside sent her flying out the door, with Bran close behind.

* * *

A refreshing breeze drifted in through the open window, airing the stuffy meeting chamber. Bran and Cullen sat with Finola in the room adjacent to her office waiting for the new First Enchanter. Finola wasn't impressed thus far, as the mage was now thirty minutes late for their meeting. If there was one thing she hated more than wasting time in a meeting, it was wasting more time waiting to start because an attendee was late.

Finola slammed her palm down on the table. "Of course I'm pissed off, Cullen!"

Finola pinned Cullen with a glare of such ferocity he didn't know whether to repeat the circumstances for a third time, or just leave the room until she calmed down. Given meetings like this in the past, she wasn't likely to relax, and he was a bit feisty himself. "There was no waiting in this case," Cullen argued.

"When I left for Starkhaven, I left explicit orders not to have any mage made tranquil, under _any_ circumstances. Surely you could have waited a _few_ days."

"Fin, you need to settle down," Bran instructed. " _Try_ to put on your game face, please."

"Andraste's fat ass! You two are the reason no one else wanted to be the Viscount!"

"Maloff was an extremely dangerous mage, Excellency. He should have been stopped years ago. Instead, _our_ inefficiency," Cullen said, motioning to everyone at the table, "cost the lives of four innocents, and I was not about to risk having that criminal be rescued by his fellow maleficar. And in case you've forgotten, First Enchanter Dering agreed that it was the best course of action."

"That I did," came a confident, accented voice from the doorway, and immediate silence stilled the room.

 _Ah, the Nevarran finally shows up_ , Finola thought as she twisted in her seat. Reynard Dering stood in the doorway, his scrutinous gaze directed at Finola as he loomed above her. She stiffened in her chair, preparing for what was about to come out of his mouth, but as she stared up at him, he only stared back, as if waiting for her to jump from her chair and hug him affectionately. If the silence was awkward, Finola didn't seem care, even as she felt the eyes of Bran and Cullen burning the back of her head. With a smile, she assessed his appearance.

 _A fine-boned face, flawless skin, although rather suntanned. He sees the sun more than the average mage… ah, but there is a small scar on his chin. He's not perfect then. Good. Intense eyes, like two drops of molten lead, and such long hair, black as obsidian and well manicured,_ she mused theatrically. _What's that around his neck? An antique charm of some sort, probably a Tevinter amulet. And those fancy robes! I've never seen anything like them before. Very expensive silk and quite form fitting. He has a marvelous body, that's obvious._

"I apologize for my lateness," he said finally.

Finola continued to stare, unable to stop her ruminations. _He's an impressive looking man, but he clearly possesses an excess of confidence. I don't like him. And I most certainly don't trust him._

Cullen looked at Bran. He assumed Bran was allowing Finola a few moments to organize her thoughts, so he took it upon himself to greet Dering formally. "Welcome back to the Keep, First Enchanter. I assume you didn't get lost?"

 _Hm, Cullen is usually more subtle. That doesn't bode well either._ Rather than wait for Bran to introduce her, as was the correct protocol, Finola stood and faced him.

"Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet, First Enchanter. Come join us," she said cheerfully.

Reynard's gaze travelled from Finola's eyes down to her feet and back up again, not pausing to ogle, just simply evaluating her as she had done with him. "Your statue does not adequately capture the finer nuances of your loveliness," he paused to make a quick bow, "Your Excellency."

 _Oh, spare me_ , Finola thought, repressing a scowl. His voice had a strange, breathy quality to it, and she was immediately skeptical. _Is he hiding the pain of some dreadful tragedy_? Finola pondered with her best demure smile. _I think he's going to be a fascinating nut to crack._ Bran's fitful stirring in the chair next to her roused her from her thoughts. "You have been to the docks, then. An unusual location for a stroll."

"You know what they say about one wrong turn," he shrugged. "But I do find Kirkwall to be a city with many engaging features." He leaned in to speak in a hushed voice. "However, your statue is the only redeeming element in _that_ part of town."

The urge to roll her eyes was almost overriding her resolve, but Finola remained stoic. "Then you must find Kirkwall's Circle quite dreary compared to the College of Magi in Cumberland."

"Nothing can compare to the College, it is true." He took another step into the room, his eyes scanning the room and its décor. "Even so, Kirkwall could use some changes for the better, the Circle in particular. You may have heard about some of the improvements I spearheaded in Nevarra. The city has never been so enlightened… and safe."

Bran shuffled some papers in thought _. If he's fishing for compliments, he's come to the wrong place._

"I have every confidence in your ability to renovate a fortress, _"_ Finola said. _Is he a politician or a mage? Maker's breath._ "I understand you specialize in the Spirit and Arcane schools of magic, First Enchanter."

"Please, call me Reynard. We are of similar renown, yes?"

"Actually, no…."

"First Enchanter Dering!" Bran launched from his chair, pre-empting any more pointed repartee. "You already know the Knight-Commander, and I am Kirkwall's Seneschal, Bran Wyndham."

"A pleasure," Dering replied dryly, barely sparing a glance at Bran as he continued to focus on Finola.

Bran nodded, and he would have reached out to shake Dering's hand if the mage had made the first move, but he didn't.

Finola took a cleansing breath and motioned to the seat beside her. "Please, have a seat."

The new leader of the Circle sat down, and without taking his eyes off her, settled in with a smile. "Thank you, _Your Excellency,_ " he said with a hint of mockery. Then he cocked his head and considered Bran. "I know you've been keeping affairs in order here for many, _many_ years. Although I am certain the Viscountess keeps things stimulating at the Keep, have you no interest in retiring to a small town for a slower pace of living?" he asked as he adjusted the sleeves of his robes. "I can envision you cultivating fancy herb gardens and luxuriating in a giant bathtub in your golden years."

Finola took a quick look at Bran and saw the muscles of his neck tighten in response to Dering's glib remarks. She was surprised his teeth didn't clench before he offered an insincere smile and answered.

"Alas, I am ever dedicated to the city I call home, as well as its thought-provoking leaders."

"A true man of the people!" Dering said, acting impressed. "How admirable."

 _Phony bastard_. Finola cleared her throat, the tension in the room continuing to annoy her. "While you were lingering outside the door, you may have heard us discussing the mage who was made tranquil in my absence."

"Yes, an unfortunate circumstance."

"Would you please elaborate on the situation as you saw it?" Finola looked into his eyes, searching for the truth. "I find it hard to believe that, as the new First Enchanter, you would agree to an extreme measure so easily."

"It was hardly extreme," he scoffed. "He was a very talented, but deadly blood mage. I should think after what happened with Orsino, not to mention your mother, you would have been amenable to the idea."

Finola's eyes narrowed at the mention of her mother, further stoking her indignation. "If he was a lawbreaker, he should have been brought forth, judged, and either imprisoned or executed if found guilty. He _should_ have been made an example, not turned into an emotionless ghost of a man to do your bidding. What is he now but just another hand being used to provide the Circle with more funding?"

"Why would I agree to have the man killed if we have a use for him? Sometimes it _is_ only about money, Viscountess Hawke… or is it Viscountess Wyndham now?"

"It is Hawke," she said, her chair screeching along the floor as she stood.

"Did you know that Emperor Florian and a seneschal from Lake Celestine were involved in a scandalous affair? For one hundred years, Ferelden belonged to Orlais. But Florian's obsession with his subordinate made it easier for Ferelden to break free from the Orlesians." His eyes flashed to Bran and then back to Finola. "Tsk, see what happens when you mix business with pleasure?"

Finola heard an amused snort coming from Bran. She admired his incredible control, and harnessed her own anger by channeling Bran's wisdom. "My time is precious, First Enchanter, and I have no interest in a history lesson at the moment." Cool and collected, Finola took a sip of water and waited for his response with a pleasant smile.

"Of course." He tipped his head in deference. "Forgive my digression. Now what were you saying about your laws?"

Finola walked across the room and stood near a window, continuing to rein in her frustration. " _My_ City Guard is responsible for the law and order in Kirkwall. This decision should _not_ have been made without my knowledge."

"Perhaps you'll be in your office the next time a blood mage runs rampant and murders unarmed citizens of your city in broad daylight."

"It is _your_ city now as well. You are here to be an ambassador of peace, are you not?" The anger smoldering inside her began to burn; a slow flush crept up her neck, reaching her cheeks. "We have been working toward that peace, an understanding between the Circle, the Templars, and my office. This manipulative behavior will do nothing to appease the people who live in daily fear of another bloodbath."

"Then I suggest you make the happiness of _our_ people your top priority."

Finola questioned her sanity for a long moment. "Unless you have some other business to bring to my attention, First Enchanter, we are done here," she stated. "Bran, would you please see to it that the First Enchanter leaves with a copy of the latest agreements signed by the White Divine, the Knight-Commander, Grand Cleric Marina, and myself?"

"No need," Dering told them directly. "I've already read the agreements, as well as several other compelling documents your staff has produced."

"I see." She reached out and snatched up her papers, moving to leave. "As entertaining as this has been, I have important business to take care of."

Reynard stood abruptly and approached Finola, offering his hand. "Thank you for your time, my Lady." Reluctantly, Finola allowed him to take her hand, and in a surprise gesture, he brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. His eyebrows rose as he met her gaze, and he smiled knowingly. "Come by my office if you would like to have a proper discussion about all this political maneuvering." Then he leaned in and whispered. "Or if you are in need child rearing advice... "

The beginning of an unbearable headache prickled inside Finola's skull. Without acknowledging Dering again, she strutted across the room toward the exit, stopping when she reached Cullen. "My office in fifteen minutes, please." Cullen nodded once, and she let her gaze sweep the room again. "Good day, gentlemen."

 _Just who does he think he is?_ she thought while walking the short distance between offices _. I'll be damned if he thinks he can pull this shit with me and then expect favors. I'm not helping him with anything!_

She flopped onto her chair and cracked her knuckles, rehashing the meeting in her mind.

When Bran walked in a few minutes later, Finola was slumped in her chair, making faces and tipping her head from side to side as she scanned a bill of lading.

Bran had just bent over to adjust the doorstop when she looked up from her reading and spoke. "Leave it open. I don't want there to be any question about our involvement and how it affects our duties."

Bran frowned at her posture and sat down in front of Finola's desk. "I was making sure it _stayed_ open, Your Excellency… Or should I say, my Lady?"

She tossed another bill onto the ever-growing stack of papers, rifling through it in search of something in particular. "Maker, Bran, he is a complete jackass," she said as she snatched another bill and examined it. "Damn it, this isn't the one from Markham either."

Enjoying the little snit she had worked herself into, he grinned and leaned forward to examine the paperwork. "It was an amusing game Dering played, wasn't it?"

"I was not the least bit amused by the uninspired tactics he used to get a read on us." With a dramatic sigh, she threw her hands up in defeat. "I can't find anything in this mess."

"He is not an ordinary man, but now he knows you can't be swayed by the likes of him," he said, pulling a paper out near the bottom of the pile. He read the tallies quickly and handed it to her. "Here."

She looked at the mislaid parchment and then into his eyes. "How do you _do_ that?"

Bran shrugged. "That's a very generous trade agreement with Lord Walter." Beneath the simple statement, a part of him hoped for a reasonable response, something that could prove she used diplomacy and not threats or violence in her negotiations. "You must have made quite an impression for him to offer such a reduced rate for Markham's woolen garments and furs."

"I guess so." Her gaze faltered, her reaction quick, hardly a reaction at all, but Bran saw it and took it as all the proof he needed, but this was not the place for him to launch a barrage of disapproving comments.

"One of these days you will have to tell me the story," he drawled.

She didn't look at him as he remained silent, couldn't look at him. What happened before they left Markham was a discussion for another time, preferably in about ten years. Instead, she continued with her previous rant. "Well, Dering knows I'm with child. I didn't feel any magic when he touched me, so he's either more talented than we know, or he guessed and got his answer when I didn't deny it."

"He's got brass balls, I'll give him that." He watched as she ripped a hangnail from her pinky and stared vacantly. "You know, Fin, he may end up being just what the Circle needs. And I wouldn't rule out his cleverness being useful for this office either."

"So you want me to play nice?" The idea of allowing Dering an inch when she knew he'd find a way to take a mile made her squirm in her seat. "I cannot guarantee that. However, I think I will make a trip to the Circle and talk to some of the mages there, get their opinions of Dering. Then I'll have to meet with him, too. Maker, I hate this bullshit."

"Don't go alone," he said, insistence in his tone. "I think it would be wise to take Cullen perhaps, or another high ranking templar."

"To smite him?" The worried look on Bran's face made her feel warm inside, and she smiled at his concern. "That would be quite a scandal, wouldn't it? You do earn your salary, Bran." He was smiling, his eyes on her, waiting, and she knew he wanted to have a more in-depth discussion about her trade agreement with Markham. She bent over to rearrange some papers on her desk. "Cullen will be here in a few minutes."

Her obvious attempt to get rid of him only had him settle into his chair more comfortably. "I think this is as good a time as any to show you something." She rolled her eyes up and narrowed her brows, her palms suddenly damp. Bran shook out a folded parchment and held it up for her to see. "Remember the letter I wrote to the Grey Warden, Stroud? He has finally replied."

Sudden fear paled her face. "Is it a good thing I'm sitting?"

"Read for yourself and decide."

 _Seneschal Bran,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. In regard to your enquiry, all I can say is a certain Grey Warden may or may not be in close proximity to Kirkwall in the near future. The interested party should keep abreast of the goings on in Wildervale and Starkhaven within ten weeks time._

 _Phillipe Stroud  
Warden-Commander, Amaranthine Grey Wardens_

"Maker's breath… Bethany." A genuine smile grew on her face. "Thank you," she muttered as she reread the letter. "And this must be two weeks old! But shit, I'd have to travel north. Well, that's just the way it is. I'll have to come up with some reason to go to… Starkhaven maybe," she rambled. "Ach, I don't want to go anywhere near Sebastian."

"Let's not plan too far in advance. Perhaps she can travel here. Tell Varric to get information from those _people_ he deals with in Lowtown. One step at a time, yes?"

"Right. I didn't dare to hope I'd see her again." She stared into his eyes, her love plain. "Thank you so much, Bran."

"All in a day's work."

"I love you," she mouthed silently.

"I expect payment in full later," he whispered with a wolfish grin. Bran looked out the window and eyed the setting sun, and she knew why he sighed so deeply. He kept his voice low. "I suppose we won't be getting married today."

"I don't require the Maker's consent to know how I feel about you, Bran."

"You're not disappointed?"

"A little. It's more my concern for our child than my own disappointment," she whispered. "I don't want rumors of a bastard birth to ruin his reputation in the future. We still have time though. How's your schedule tomorrow?"

"Perhaps first thing in the morning."

"That could work. I'll stop and chat with the Grand Cleric. She's settled in the small building near the Chantry site, which is still weeks away from being finished. Maybe she can come to the house in the morning."

"Still avoiding a party?"

"I think it's wise not to flaunt ourselves. The gossipmongers already have enough to talk about."

"There's nothing wrong with a celebration. I don't think it will matter one way or another," he said firmly. While he thought some merriment was exactly what she needed, he changed topics, sparing her more talk that would surely upset her. "As for now, I must attend to duller adventures. A meeting of the Merchant's Guild is being held to explore some new trade options for next winter over some hearty food and strong ale." He rolled his eyes with a displeased groan.

"Sounds beyond dull. We'll have to do something fun when you get home." Their eyes locked, both keeping the fiery passion between them contained. "Don't get all liquored up at The Hanged Man."

"It's… not there this time. The Guild has secured a private room at the Blooming Rose."

" _What_?" The passion in her gaze dissipated, leaving only shocked disapproval. "Well, you'll be a welcome sight no doubt," she sniped. "I guess Madame Lusine wasn't joking when she said she wanted to go more upscale."

"Don't be jealous, Fin. Whores have an extremely short memory, even for an experienced client like me."

" _Former_ client," she asserted.

"Come along if you wish. We can always have that ménage à trois you've fantasized about."

He ducked when she threw a balled up parchment at him, and the crumpled projectile sailed over his head and out the door. "I suggest you leave now, Seneschal, before you find yourself out of a job."

"Duly noted." Offering her a saucy wink, he turned to leave and bumped straight into Cullen, who had bent over to pick up the offending paper. "Ah! Apologies, Cullen."

"Yes, yes," he muttered while unfurling the parchment. "So… how is she?" he whispered hesitantly.

"Neutral at best. Just don't mention whores," he warned in a raised voice. Bran glanced at Finola before departing, and he mentally patted himself on the back when he saw her lips twitch with a little smile.

"Why would I… no, I don't want to know." Cullen's cheeks heated as he entered her office.

"You don't get laid enough, templar," Finola muttered.

"What was that?" he said, taking a seat. "I didn't hear you, Finola."

"Oh, I said I don't get _paid_ enough," she revised. "You know, for all the aggravation. Anyway, get comfortable. I have some questions for you."

"Not too many I hope." The sun was setting, and Cullen was impatient to end the day on a high note, not dwelling on the meeting with Dering. "How long will this last?"

"As long as necessary, Knight-Commander. Maker forbid you're a few minutes late for communal supper with your fellow knights-errant." Then her lips quirked into a half smirk. "Or are you planning to woo some poor unsuspecting tavern girl tonight?"

"Very funny. And I _did_ hear what you said earlier," he said, wanting to change the subject, but inadvertently opening up a new assortment of personal issues instead.

"You did? Well then, let's discuss your love life first."

"All right, Fin, just get on with official business."

"You know, Cullen, if you'd lighten up a little, you might get laid. I don't begin to understand why you would choose celibacy."

"What makes you think I do?"

"Ooh! Tell me your secrets," she sang.

"Fin, I'm going to leave if you don't-"

"Okay, okay. Don't get your smalls all twisted." She sighed wearily, not looking forward to more talk of _that_ man. "So, since you've seen Dering in action this past week, give me one word that describes our new First Enchanter?"

"Prick," Cullen said without hesitation.

"Oh! Glad to see we're on the same page," she laughed, then grew serious. "I have a few ideas to keep him in line."

"I suppose an unfortunate accident is out of the question."

"You've come a long way, my friend! I like this post-Meredith Cullen. I like him _a lot_." Her smile couldn't have been any bigger as she sat back and crossed her arms, glad to know she had at least one colleague who thought as she did. "Now, what are we _really_ going to do about him?"

* * *

Finola had picked at her supper, sitting alone and feeling rather gloomy due to Bran's absence, but she was about to take a long awaited soothing bath. It had been a frustrating day, and even though she showed no visible signs of pregnancy, she was already experiencing its tiring effects. Pouring herself a little wine, she placed the goblet on a side table next to the tiger's eye dagger Bran had given her. Then, into the steaming water, she added an extra few drops of rose water, inhaling the flowery scent. She sighed at the perfection of the moment and stepped into the tub.

Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, the tips of the long strands curled from the dampness. Winding a ringlet around a finger, she closed her eyes and sank into the water, enveloped in its warmth and comfort. When she came up for air, she stuck one leg out and looked at a long but faint scar running from her knee to her outer thigh, tracing a finger along the healed injury. Colin Mattson, the man who tried to poison Bran, had caused it in a confrontation with her before she left Markham. A sly smirk came to her lips as she envisioned the terrified expression he wore when her blade skimmed along his neck. Mattson was only alive because Finola had thoughts of Kirkwall's future on her mind before leaving Markham, not because Bran had asked her to leave Mattson, as well as Magda, alone. Magda, however, wasn't quite so lucky that day. She lowered her leg back into the bath water, lifted the other, and began to wash. _Mattson had better keep his part of the bargain_ , she thought darkly.

She craned her neck around to grab some soap, not expecting to see anyone else in the room. "Bran! Maker, don't sneak in here like that!" The serious look on his face was concerning. _What could have happened at a Guild meeting to cause that grim expression?_

Little did she know that he planned to scold her over some revealing information he'd learned earlier at the Rose. He wanted to reprimand her for keeping secrets from him, but stopped in his tracks when he saw she was in the middle of a bath.

"And if I were here to assassinate you, what then?" He stood there and stared, his eyes taking in every body part he could see, every curve. He admired how defined she was, her muscles that of a finely chiseled statue. She was, without a doubt, a well-honed fighter. "You _should_ have leapt from the tub in all your naked glory and assaulted me. Have you lost your tou-"

"Void take you, Wyndham!" The dagger whizzed by his head and lodged itself in the doorframe.

"Holy shit, Fin!" Bran spun around, and nodded slowly as he regained composure. "Nice throw though." Given the conversation he planned to have with her, he decided to leave it where it was. _No reason to tempt fate._

"That dagger has perfect balance. You couldn't have picked a more skilled blade smith." Impulsively, she splashed water onto his clothes. "And you're later than you said you'd be," she added with a pout.

Laughing at her mock censure, Bran undressed slowly watching Finola as she watched him, wide-eyed, before folding his clothes and placing them neatly on a chair. "Make room, my dear."

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Bathing, of course."

" _I_ am bathing, and you'll be invading my personal space," she asserted as she sprawled her arms and legs out. "Sorry, no room for you."

He bee-lined for the large tub and rushed in to kiss her, silencing any more back talk. Hesitant at first, a strong desire overtook her, and she covered his mouth with hers hungrily.

"I don't smell any alcohol on your breath," she said, gasping for air.

"That is because I abstained."

"You did?" she asked, shifting to allow him room.

"Why would I want to dull my senses? Especially when I knew I'd come home to find you naked and desperate for me."

"I am not _desperate_ for anything, you arrogant ass."

"Not even this?" he asked, holding out a dark chocolate truffle. She licked her lips as her eyes lit and her mouth watered in anticipation. "I thought so. But let's keep this until after our bath."

"I don't want it anyway," squeaked the petulant child within her.

"Bullshit." Cruelly tempting her, he placed the truffle next to her goblet and stepped into the tub, putting his legs on either side of her body and taking her hands in his. "So, tonight wasn't quite as dull as I thought it would be."

"Having whores around has that effect on meetings."

"There were no whores, well, not until the meeting ended. And, since you're wondering," he regarded her with a head tilt and a smirk, "I promptly left the moment they entered the room. The other men stayed, of course, and I was ridiculed by some for leaving… but that was not the intriguing part."

When her contented gaze found his eyes, she smiled curiously. He let himself smile back, unable to harbor the nagging resentment he had felt when he first entered the room.

"I overheard Fullerton say the large shipment from Markham is being paid for at a rate lower than the one I saw on the bill earlier today."

"Oh, that… Don't be angry with me," she said innocently. "I didn't want to bother you with silly details, Bran."

" _Silly_ details?" That got his hackles up. "You should have told me, Fin. As seneschal, this is knowledge the merchants expected me to have already. If I hadn't overheard him, Fullerton would have made me look like a laughing stock!"

"And we wouldn't want that!" she snapped. After a deep breath, she went ahead with her defense, even though her stomach was beginning to tighten. "As if Fullerton is a stranger to shady dealings… My actions were a direct result of your poisoning in Markham. I did what I had to do."

"I _knew_ you were up to something when you said you were going to speak with Lord Walter. Tell me exactly what you did before we left."

"I spoke with that snake, Colin Mattson, about the goods, not Lord Walter. I merely suggested Kirkwall could benefit from the surplus animal products in Markham. He's paying for the difference out of his own pocket. You'd think you'd be grateful I didn't kill the sodding bastard!"

"Surely you threatened to do so, especially if he doesn't comply with your offer in the future."

"You asked me not kill him and I didn't. End of story!" With a cry of frustration, she shoved her foot against the tub, splashing water up into Bran's face.

"You are lying by omission." He paused and gave her a shrewd look. "You promised me, Fin, you promised not to lie."

"I am not lying! He had to pay for what he did to you. I took care of it the only way I knew how."

"I want the details. Now."

"Really, Bran, it's not all that gripping of a tale. Besides, you may not like what you hear." He raised his brows and waited. With his eyes so big and questioning, it reminded her of the many awful inquisitions she received from her father during her childhood. She let out a heavy sigh. "I held a knife to his throat and told him if he didn't do as I asked, I would come back to Markham and kill him. That's not so terrible, is it?"

"What else?" Bran stared at her, not believing that was the ultimate end to the altercation. "I know Mattson. He's not some cowardly dog, and death threats are fairly common in Markham. What did you do to him?"

"We had words… a heated scuffle. He fought back, and he gave me this scar," she said, lifting her leg and pointing, hoping for a little sympathy. "I had to tie him to a chair and… well, he was already naked."

"Naked? You didn't…?" His eyes closed for a moment in thought. _Mattson was naked and with... Magda? Maker, no._ "Just tell me… all of it," he forced himself to say.

She fixed him with an icy glare as he questioned her actions with an intense glare of his own. A look of pure malice washed over her face, her eyes narrowing, her lips held firm in a straight line. "Fine. You want to know what really happened? I said something like 'I'll cut out your liver with a rusty spoon and feed it to my mabari.'" Her fists clenched and her legs stiffened. "I said I'd watch the life drain from his eyes as I burned him alive until all that remained of him was crumbling bones and ashes. Then I gave him something to remember me by… a gash on his _precious_ cock!"

"Maker's breath, Fin." Without thinking, he moved away from her, leaning back against the cool bathtub. He looked… disgusted. "You certainly have a dark side."

"You're judging me. I can see it on your face." His expression bothered her more than his retreat, hard lines creasing his brow, no light in his gaze. "You're sickened by me." She almost cried as the effort it took to say those words to him winded her. The sting in her eyes was held at bay, but her heart continued to ache.

"I am not." He wasn't sure what he was answering, or if he'd said it aloud or just thought it, but his heart had skipped a beat. And he _was_ judging her. To accept that so much rage and hatred was inside her at times, to know that behind her charming smile and modest demeanor, dwelled a killer... he was scared, not for himself, but for her. The struggle between compassion and impassiveness was always warring within her, each clawing to break out at any given moment. It made their relationship different in a way, knowing she was a deceptive and cold-blooded - no, she was not a murderer. She was a survivor. Two remarkably different things. Yes, she would have killed Vael's son if pushed, but it was in Bran's defense that she held a knife to the young man's throat. Even so, how would he react if he were to see her unleash that merciless violence to completion? Her voice brought him back to the moment.

"I wouldn't have actually done any of that. It was just a warning to make him accept my terms." She tried to smile, not a seductive smile, but one that was warm and tender. It proved an unsuccessful attempt to warm the chilly distance between them. Her chin dropped to her drawn up knees, wanting to diminish the bitter cold of his glare. She shivered and looked at him, an eternal minute spent waiting for Bran to pull her into his arms and tell her that he understood her motivation. "If I had to, I would have killed him cleanly like-" _Shit. How do I tell him about Magda?_

His jaw dropped and he gripped her wrist, tightening his hold slightly as he spoke. "Like who, Fin? What are not telling me?"

"I just meant it would have been quick, like I always do it," she lied convincingly. Or so she thought. "You _know_ I'm not cruel, don't you?"

 _What has she done?_ The niggling questions of her aggression in Markham, and who else might have felt her wrath that day, demanded answers. But she was defensive, and that always led to more lies. A softer approach was required. "I wasn't expecting to hear that you were so… menacing. This may come back to bite us in the ass, you know." He tucked some damp curls behind her ear with a warm smile. "I just worry for you, Fin. I worry about the harm that kind of emotional rage causes on your body, as well as your mind."

"It's all in the past now. My days of killing are over."

He blew out a held breath, but he couldn't shake his concerns. "Still, there may be times when have to defend yourself, or someone else, and you'll have to… kill again."

"I'm not looking for it, but if it finds me, well... I can't change who I've become, Bran. Feeling that… bloodlust is not a natural state for me. I just learned it over the years. But I will _always_ protect those I love, using whatever means necessary."

"I know you will. And I do understand your fierce loyalty." He smiled then, an honest, loving smile, and he reached out to caress her cheek. "But I don't want any more surprises. Just promise to clue me in from now on. I want to hear the stories in their entirety, not the abridged versions."

"I will, and I'm sorry, truly. I didn't want you to worry about anything I'd done." An impish grin crossed her features as she began to wash his chest. Seemingly amused, she retreated from his chest to wash his stomach. Suddenly she stopped all movement and looked into his eyes. "Sometimes I don't feel worthy of this," she said, waving her hand between them. "Of you. No man has ever fallen in love with _me_ , only the person they thought I was."

"Their loss," he whispered, cupping her cheeks and pulling her closer. "I love you, Finola," he said before kissing her. He broke the kiss gently, still holding her face in his hands. "Do you think you'll miss it?" he asked quietly. "All the action?"

"Perhaps. It _is_ an exhilarating feeling. I didn't like the killing so much, but the chase… and then the prize! Very little compares to that kind of rush now." She looked at him and saw sadness and confusion in his eyes. "I know what you're thinking, Bran, but you're wrong. With you, it _has_ been the same at times. No one has made me feel as alive as you do. Ever. And I much prefer the pleasures you give me to that of mercenary work."

"And what is the prize nowadays?"

"My rewards are incomparable now… safety, comfort, a home, a child… your love. I cherish those things. Never doubt it."

He smiled and took her leg in his hands. Closing her eyes, she sighed into the chaste kisses he planted on her calf. Her face softened with that simple, loving touch, and his hand came up to take the cloth, and then plummeted back into the bathwater, splashing a bit on her face. His scrubbing slowed to a stop as he neared her inner thigh.

The sensations within her grew, and a single eye opened lazily. "I know what you're doing." Leaning in, she met him halfway, her body giving into his, pliable in his hands. "Maybe we should take this to the bed," she breathed.

"First, answer one question for me." _Maker, forgive me._

"Anything," she whispered with a confident smile on her lips.

"Was Magda in the room with Mattson?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

" _What_?" She pulled away from him. "Why does that matter?"

His grip on her shoulders tightened. "Was she there? Tell me the truth."

Her eyes darted back and forth, her breathing growing ragged. "Magda was part of it," she ground out through clenched teeth. "She helped him, and they almost killed you!"

"And I asked you to let it go! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"You said you didn't have feelings for her. Was that a lie?"

"I have _never_ lied to you."

"But you fucked her over and over again, even though you loved me, right?"

"So you killed her because you were jealous?" he asked in amazement.

"I killed her because she deserved it."

"Yes, she did deserve it. But the point here is your dishonesty about that day. If you had simply told me the _whole_ truth earlier, we wouldn't be arguing right now!"

"I'm sure you still would've found something to reprimand me about," she shot back.

"Don't you see, Fin? Deception is automatic for you. It's part of your daily life, and you're drowning in it."

"And you just manipulated me, exploited a… a loving moment when my defenses were down!"

"Because I wanted the truth! How can we build a future based on secrets? On lies!" Holding back the raw emotion tearing at his heart, he rose and stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel and walking straight to his pile of clothes on the chair.

"What are you doing?"

He dried off quickly and threw on his clothes in forced silence, his back to her.

"Bran? Are you…." She swallowed hard, the word stuck in her throat, "…leaving?" He nodded as he struggled to pull on his boot. "Please don't. I'm sorry!" She jumped out of the tub and draped a towel across her chest, not bothering to wrap it neatly. "Please, Bran, I'll tell you everything, not that there's much left, but there are a few other details you should know." Her voice was hoarse, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Don't leave me alone. It's late! Where will you go? It's dangerous out there!"

She was almost whining now, a piercing shriek in his ear. He wanted to kick _her_ out, but it was still her house legally. Not to mention she was carrying his child. _Maker, why all the tests?_ He wasn't sure where the bitterness was coming from, but he knew it had been a long time coming. "I need some air, Fin. I'll be back sooner or later."

As he paced toward the door, she shouted one last bit of information hoping he would change his mind. "Grand Cleric Marina will be available in the morning to marry us! Will you be here?"

The anguish in her voice nearly broke him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then kept walking, resisting the urge to say he would be at her side come sunrise. Why he wanted her to be unsure, to suffer with this lack of knowledge, he couldn't figure. Maybe it was a punishment, or a test, or maybe he was just too damned mad to be nice. In any case, he was leaving for a while. _Let her think things over_.

"Bran! I know you're angry, but just tell me if you'll be here in the morning!" She shot him one last desperate look, a mix of resentment and hurt, her eyes glassy and her nose beginning to run.

"I love you, Finola." With that, he slammed the door.

In utter disbelief, she stared at the door, her mouth open. Then she closed her eyes tight, and with clenched fists, vented a frustrated scream.

If he had said he hated her, she'd have felt better. It almost sounded like… goodbye. _No, it can't be. I'm pregnant, and he loves me. Damn him!_

She'd had rules, a strict system. Every action taken was precise, deliberate, leaving no room for error. Her strategy had always worked in the past, before and after rising to Champion and then Viscountess, even with Sebastian, and all before Bran.

 _Before Bran. Maker, what have I done?_ Bran, with his political influence and honeyed words, his friendship and loyalty, his sex appeal and skilled hands. The process had always worked, but that was before his love had consumed her like a wild fire.

She hated him for interfering with her plans. But she hated herself more.

A new plan was already forming in her head. She threw on some clothes and yanked the knife from the doorjamb, sliding it into a sheath at her waist. As she ran down the stairs, she said a quick prayer and bolted out the door into the night. _Okay, where would he go? Where…? Not Varric's. He's too private a man. The Keep? No, he wouldn't want to work. He wouldn't just wander around Hightown…._

There was only once place left in her mind, one clandestine, and unfortunately titillating, haven he had often sought in the past. She turned to face in the direction of the Red Lantern District.

 _Damn him, he went to the fucking Rose. He'd better be belly-up to the bar or…._

She never thought about Bran and his sex life prior to his pledging himself to her. _Never_. It was too hard to think of him with another. Jealousy, bitterness, disgust, fear, all the visceral feelings she had repressed for so long were currently making her stomach churn. The thought of him canoodling in a darkened corner with any one of the pretty girls made her panic, sweat beading on her brow despite the night chill. She pictured his hands fondling Katriela, his tongue tracing along her curves, and then taking his pleasure with Cora. He'd even been with Madame Lusine for a few turns. _Maybe even more than a fe_ w. It was all too much. Lightheaded, she bent over and retched into the shrubbery beside her house.

When the dread began to subside, she popped a mint leaf into her mouth, and in an all out sprint, reached the Blooming Rose in record time. She stepped up to the door attendant, facing him eye to eye. "Seneschal Bran?"

He jerked his head. "Inside."

With a quick nod of thanks, Finola strode in, eying the crowd quickly. She didn't see Bran anywhere in the main room, not even on a barstool.

 _I'll kill him if he's fucking… fucking! He's not, he's not, he's not._

Her gaze fell upon Quintus, the bartender, the man who knew all but said little. She went straight to him. "Quintus, old boy, where is Seneschal Bran?"

"Ah, Viscountess, you know I can't _tell_ ya that."

She flashed the gold coin in her palm and slammed it down on the bar. "How about now?" He shook his head and slid her a mug of ale. "Fine, _old friend_ ," she said with a scowl. "Where is Lusine then?"

"There's the real question. Busy with a _special_ client." His eyes darted to the upstairs before he smirked. Finola slid the coin toward him and he snatched it. "Never say your old friend Quintus ain't dependable."

 _He's with the Lusine. Shit._ Finola sighed. "Sorry, Quintus. I'm a bit tired, not thinking clearly. Thanks."

Finola took a deep breath and climbed the stairs at a brisk pace, but careful not to draw too much attention to herself. Unfortunately, when the Viscountess showed up at the Rose, it was impossible not to have every eye follow her movements. She ignored the whispers and stares, only one goal in mind. Just before she reached Lusine's private office, she stopped, beyond relieved to find the door ajar. She crept toward the door and heard Lusine talking. With her back to the wall, Finola listened to the conversation.

"You are a wicked, wicked man, dear Bran _._ " Lusine laughed _that_ kind of laugh. Finola cringed.

"And in no small way, my wickedness is due to _your_ establishment."

 _Ha. Ha. He's flirting with her. Son of a bitch! I will rip his… argh!_ While stewing in her heated thoughts, she missed some of their conversation and heard Lusine in mid-sentence.

"…a father again? Oh, that's rich, love. So much for a peaceful retirement."

"Why does everyone want me to retire? Bah. And parenthood has many rewards, Lusine. You know that."

"Only when you're there for it." Lusine sounded almost melancholy. Finola wondered if she had a child of her own… somewhere _._ "You were a loving father to Lucan when he was a boy. But is _she_ worth all this aggravation? Hawke is a bit… cagey."

Finola heard Bran laugh, which was good… right? "You neither trust nor like Finola. Why don't you just say it?"

"Because my opinion doesn't matter. But I am curious, love. Have you told her of our arrangement?"

 _Arrangement? What in blazes is that about?_

"For her own protection, she need not know about that operation just yet."

 _Sounds like a business deal. Fair enough._

There was silence, until Bran spoke in a softer, more yielding voice. "And yet, I demanded nothing but honesty from her. Ah, Lusine, you are clever."

"So, would you be better off without her? Is she _truly_ worth your time and effort?" Lusine's tone was gentle, caring, and Finola now realized the Madame and her former client were rather close friends.

With her heart hammering in her chest, Finola held her breath.

"Yes, she _is_ truly worth it… all of it."

Finola heard the smile in his voice and for a moment, she forgot to breathe again. When she finally blew the breath out, it was a long and loud sound, a little too loud.

Lusine's smile broadened wickedly. "Come join us, Champion!"

 _Shit_. Finola rounded the doorway, her cheeks ablaze, and took a tentative step into the room. The surprised look on Bran's face was almost comical, but it disappeared quickly as he sipped his whisky. "Sorry to bother you both. I was just… um… checking… yeah."

Yes, he wanted Finola; he wanted her so much his hands almost began to shake. Bran put his drink down and stood, his eyes never leaving her face.

Lusine winked at Bran. With a sly smile for Finola, who nodded in return, Lusine started to leave the room. "He's all yours, Viscountess Hawke."

"Thank you, Lusine" Finola said in a small voice. Then the door closed behind her.

Finola's eyes flickered, a frown crossing her lips briefly. Taking a step toward Bran, her heart racing, she couldn't think, couldn't talk, not knowing what she even felt at that moment.

"You're particularly impetuous tonight, Fin." He smiled, and slowly it grew softer, more intimate, like the look he'd had when she was bathing earlier. There was something hot in his gaze that wasn't purely want. It was too tender.

Taking another step closer, her instinct was to throw her arms around him, but she felt him hesitate. He muttered something unintelligible, then shot his arms out and pulled her in close. She clutched two fistfuls of his shirt and pressed her cheek to his shoulder, relieved beyond measure when his arms tightened around her. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his strength.

Bran asked no questions but simply held her, stroking her hair, her back, his palms moving slowly. A shuddering sigh escaped her, and his lips moved to her ear. "It's all right, Fin." For another long moment, she didn't move or speak. Then his arms lifted from her as he drew a deep breath.

Finola held his gaze steadily. "Given what you know of me, are you sure you want me as your wife?"

The answer came back, deep and sure. "You are mine. You always have been."

The atmosphere warmed between them. Finola was unsteady from the breathlessness only he could evoke, and she slowly blinked, then raised her eyes to his face again. The soft lighting in the room gilded his chiseled features and accentuated his hair and broad shoulders. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

He took her hands in his and led her to a sofa, then wrapped his arms about her waist. As he settled her astride his thighs, she frowned. "If you say you want to wait to be married, I'll scream."

His face looked harder than stone just then. "You'll scream later anyway." Then she saw his lips quiver before he smiled.

"Kiss me, Bran."

She didn't need to ask twice. He took her face in his hands and set his lips to hers, not with a gentle kiss, but a passionate one, long and hard. He deepened the kiss, skimming his hand down to close over her breast, squeezing until he heard her moan. He drew back and moved to the exposed curve of her throat, trailing hot kisses along her neck, down to the swell of her breast. She gasped as his lips sucked gently, and he felt her melt in his arms.

With a hum of extreme frustration, Finola drew back from their embrace. "I want-"

"Not here."

She wrenched away from his roaming hands and hauled him to his feet. "Hurry up then!"

"No. Tonight is going to be different." He kissed her again, forcefully, ravenously, needing to stay in control. His gaze darkened, and he took her hand and led her to the door. "We will walk out slowly, and then leisurely stroll back home, talking and clearing the air along the way."

Without a hint of reticence or coyness, she stepped close with a sincerity that stole his breath away, and she placed her hands on his chest. "I love what I know of you, Bran, and I trust what I don't yet know. I want you to feel the same for me. I promise to share all my fears with you, my thoughts and dreams, everything I've never said before. But… I need your help to do so. It's not… easy for me to…."

Bran stared deep into her eyes, seeing himself in the reflection. "I know, but do not worry. My instruction will be… inspiring." He wanted her with every ounce of his body and soul, so much so that words seemed superfluous in that moment.

His lips ghosted across her mouth as she spoke. "Just… love me…."

She felt his smile on her cheek. "Always."

Wringing blood from a stone would probably be easier than getting Finola to talk candidly. Nevertheless, Bran was not about to let her slip away from him into a murky pit of duplicity, whether it was learned from her life experiences or not. Even if he had to break her down and build her up again, it was a challenge he swore to follow through to the end, wherever that end took them.

As she floated down from the cloud, the warmth of his hand, and the love in his gaze, held her upright. She concentrated and caressed him, expertly, intimately. Honestly. She needed nothing more. What had grown between them, what was growing inside her, was their life from now on.

Calmly, Finola took his hand. "Let's go home."

"Lead the way, my dear." _…and look_ _to me for all the days to come._


	16. Hanging in the Balance

It had only been a few hours since Finola and Bran fell asleep after making passionate love late into the night. The door to their chambers opened with a loud bang, rousing them from a deep slumber. Orana burst in with the news of the morning, her enthusiasm rendering her words almost unintelligible.

"Mistress! I-I mean, Finola! I have a-a message for you!"

"Maker, get a hold of yourself, girl." Finola bolted upright, yanking a sheet up to cover her bare chest. Bran groaned as loudly as Finola, and they both smiled at each other's intolerance.

"The Grand Cleric sent you a missive and I thought you'd want to see it immediately," Orana prattled, "because you were supposed to get married today and since she is not here yet, maybe that means-"

"All right! Just give it to me." Orana shuffled to their bed and looked away as she handed Finola the note. "Really, Orana, you don't have to be so modest. You've seen all of my bits, and probably more of Bran's than any woman ought to." Finola poked him in the chest with a finger, her gaze claiming him as her own. Not to be outdone, he grabbed her hand and placed a lingering kiss on her palm.

"I-I'm going to… make breakfast," Orana stammered, flying from the room with heated cheeks.

Chuckling to himself, Bran propped his head on his hand and absently stroked Finola's stomach beneath the sheets. He was so proud of her, her accomplishments, and how she'd worked for everything she got — she was no spoiled noble. He was eager to surround her with every comfort and pleasure; but there had been a rift between them that love could not bridge over. That changed with her confessions the previous night, the fears and anxieties she admitted to him. During their talk, he encouraged her to be flippant and daring, to speak her mind unhindered by reproach, and she did. He laughed at her amusing anecdotes, and at times, he was touched to the point of tears by her sorrows and regrets.

He wished he could confide something in return, but he had only one secret, and it wasn't particularly intriguing. Finola hadn't mentioned overhearing his business arrangement with Madame Lusine, and he thought it best to explain his other source of moderate income another time. _Perhaps tonight._

"And so, Fin? What is the news?"

Finola grumbled a few expletives as she read, then crumpled the note and pitched it across the room. "The Grand Cleric had an emergency of some sort." A headache was developing rapidly, and she massaged her temples, hoping to stave it off. "For fuck's sake! Why is this so hard?"

Bran clenched his jaw and worked hard not to let her see his disappointment. "Ah, my dear, your patience is always near the breaking point, isn't it?"

When he moved closer to her side, she snuggled against him, her hand stroking tenderly over his skin. Her eyelashes swept up, and she gazed at him with a gentle tenderness that transformed her whole face. "You look as disappointed as I feel." She knew him well enough to recognize how frustrated he was with the news, but she also knew him well enough to know not to tease. She sighed and kissed his cheek, her voice taking on a melodramatic air. "Damn it, Bran, it's like some unseen force is keeping this marriage from taking place. Maybe it's a sign from on high…."

"Please dispense with the dramatics so early in the morning, Fin." He grabbed her wrists firmly, and she snorted and struggled as he wrestled her into position, pinning her arms above her head as she lay sprawled beneath him. "Perhaps holding you captive will calm your delicate nerves."

"You are _not_ helping by being a smart-ass, Bran."

"All right then." He brought her into an embrace, but this time he tickled her ribs.

"Stop that!" she demanded, but she laughed nonetheless. He repeated his teasing, running his fingers up and down her sides as she squirmed. Giggling with high, breathy squeals of delight, he knew she actually loved to be tickled, especially right there, behind her beautifully dimpled knee. "Stop it!" she cried breathlessly, but he carried on. "Stop right now, Wyndham, or I'll kick your ass out of my house!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort." He tweaked a nipple for emphasis.

There was something more than playfulness in his eyes, but he was still aching from the many hours of passion the night before. _I really must work on my strength and endurance_ , he thought. _Perhaps more riding…._

"Bran?" He looked at her wide-eyed. "Could you… maybe… calm my nerves?"

"You must be joking, Fin." It seemed the secrets she shared with him were now paying dividends. However, pleasure would have to wait. "As hard as it is to believe, I am, in fact, _sore_ from the endless calming I administered to you last night. So stop pouting and take pity on me."

"You would admit defeat so easily? And here I thought I was doing _you_ a favor."

"Ha! No you didn't." He took her hand and pulled her off the bed with him, pointing her in the direction of her wardrobe. "It's too late anyway, so get dressed. We've plenty to do today."

She examined her garments with a frown. "I need some new outfits, Bran. Hop on that this morning, would you? You can stop by the merchant's row and then head the Keep. I'll meet you later." Sorting through them, she pushed each one aside with a shake of her head, unable to see his brows furrowing as she knew they would.

_Ah, so she has a hidden agenda this morning._ His stomach tightened, and he moved toward her. "Am I to be your personal shopper now?"

"Well, you do have better taste in clothing than I do. So, yes."

"You are the only woman I'd allow to command me to do such a foolish thing." Bran embraced her from behind, holding her tight and close and kissing her neck. He adjusted himself so she could feel his arousal on her backside. "Why don't you wear that blue outfit there?"

She ignored the press of his hips against her - to the best of her ability - and continued sifting through the clothes. "I need something that projects power and confidence. That one projects frumpy and boring."

"And who are you trying to impress today?" His hands reached up and cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing against her nipples.

She shuddered and let go a little, almost helpless whimper. "I want to pay a visit to the Gallows and speak with Dering."

"Oh no!" He took hold of her shoulders and spun her around. "I told you I didn't want you to see Dering without an escort," he snapped. "I will go with you."

"No, you _will not_ go with me _._ I can handle him, Bran. Besides, he won't be himself if you're there."

Bran's face was a mask of barely contained anger, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he was jealous. Then his eyes grew narrow. "Why must you push things with Dering?"

"I know how to handle over-confident mages in positions of power. Have a little faith in me."

"I do have faith in you. But I don't trust him one bit."

"Now, now, Seneschal, I can see you're concerned," she whispered, her hand caressing his suddenly limp status. "And I get so incredibly turned on when you're jealous, but you know I will have Dering wrapped around my finger within minutes."

He was not jealous. Jealousy was useless and ignoble; but he certainly felt slighted, and unconvinced of her wily methods. "Dering is not a fool, nor is he someone you should trifle with. He will see right through you, Fin. Please don't be reckless."

"Can't I even joke around with you? I'm only trying to lighten you up, Bran." Her eyes met his and he swore he caught a glimpse of fear in them, but she spoke confidently,her expression one of dogged determination. "I promise to be exceedingly wary of him, all right?"

With a reluctant grin, he looked at her stubborn face and uneasily agreed. He pulled her close for another reassuring hug. "What is with this sudden optimism today, Fin? Could it be that you've been unshackled from your usual pessimism after our conversation last night?"

She laughed at his accurate assessment. "Y _ou_ have unshackled me from those bindings, but don't get too cocky about it." Then she traced a finger along his taut cheek. "I love you, Bran, so very much, but… sometimes I still can't understand what a man like you sees in me."

"I see everything I'm not." Cupping her face between his hands, he searched her eyes. "From the beginning, I knew you would complete me, Finola. And I complete you." The absolute truth in his voice went straight to her heart, her body melting into his as he whispered in her ear. "If I had to give up anything for you, I would do it gladly."

"Even with all my faults, the arguments and the insults, all that?"

"All of it. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

She closed her eyes and thrilled to the touch of his kiss. "That's the best news I've heard all day," she whispered.

"The day has only just begun, my dear. I have special plans for tonight that will have you _reeling_."

"Oh? Is there some way I can convince you to tell me the details?" She tipped her head and tried for a come-hither look. He chuckled and shook his head. _So much for the effect I was going for._

"I will give you a hint though. It involves moonlight." She made a little moue of intrigue that stirred his blood. "Meet me in the gardens at dusk and all your questions will be answered."

Filled with a sudden ennui, she closed her eyes and held him tight. "If I could go back in time…."

"But you can't." Through narrowed eyes, he looked at her before grasping her hands decisively. "We can reflect on the past and anticipate the future, and then spend hours dissecting it, but that would serve no purpose. Here and now is all that matters, my dear. Just be happy."

"I am happy," she said with a loving smile. "And once our child is born, I'll be hard-pressed to contain my delight."

"So will I. But until then, I want your full attention." He eased his hand over her stomach and grinned sweetly. "Maker knows _my_ needs will be sorely neglected when the baby keeps you up all hours of the night."

"You selfish prig," she teased. "What about my needs?"

"Your needs will never go unmet. I know how to calm the wildness inside you," he whispered. "I know what makes you cry out softly, and I know what makes you scream." She dragged in a rough breath, and pulled back to stare at his face, etched with clear possession.

"And I know what you need, too." She let her hand move slowly down his chest and over his stomach, and Bran gave a little gasp. "But we should stop this and get on with the business of governance, Seneschal."

Repressing the urge to kiss her into submission, he eyed the sunlight streaming through the window, then pulled her closer. "I do hate when you're right. But I'd love to pin you to the bed and fuck like rabbits until sundown _._ "

"You must stop saying things like that…." With his touch and his words, Bran stirred a fire inside her, the heat going straight to her nether regions. "Besides, I thought you were too sore," she taunted.

"I would rally for you," he said, trying to match her simpering tone. Brushing his lips over her cheek, he whispered something that made her smile and flush, and call him a wicked man.

"Only once, Bran?"

"Twice, if you stay out of trouble today."

"I promise to behave, serah… at least until we get home."

"See that you do, Finola." His grin faded as he grew thoughtful. "If anything were to happen to you…."

"It won't." She lifted a hand and he caught it in his, pressing it to his lips. "You've become a bit of a worrywart, Bran." She smiled, a little wryly. "I've handled worse than Dering, you know. But it's nice having you fret over me anyway."

"You're a cruel and insolent woman." With a growl of frustration, he set to dressing himself.

Her soft eyes watched as he primped and preened, and she was as entertained by his routine as always. A new forest-green doublet was carefully buttoned all the way to the top, his hair neatly combed, all strands put into place as he checked his teeth for lingering mint leaves in the mirror.

He paused his grooming and gave her a sidelong glance. "It would do you well to take a lesson from me, Fin."

"Unlike you, I can't obsess over the finer aspects of proper appearances. I prefer a more-"

"Slapdash method of presenting yourself?" Before she could answer, he kissed her deeply. Her witty comeback vanished as his kiss left her lips tingling. "Now, go make yourself presentable."

Sighing, she grabbed a printed tunic and burgundy trousers from the wardrobe, unaware if it even matched. "Do me a favor and tell Cullen I'll be an hour or so late for our meeting." She held up the clothes for him to see.

Although Bran would have liked her to wear more dresses, his nod in silence meant his approval and she began to slip into her underclothes. "No longer than an hour," he warned with a finger wag. "And remember, Dering is a brilliant man."

"Yes, I know! Stop hounding me and go already."

With a somewhat crestfallen smile, he left her, shutting the door behind him.

She had been raised to consider a man's position and wealth when making a decision about her future, but Finola now understood how foolish she had been seeking that with Sebastian. She was confident Bran and their child would bring her every happiness, whether they were wealthy or penniless, or anything in between.

A ridiculous thought struck her then, and she laughed to herself. "We should just quit our jobs and move to Orlais," she said aloud. The idea of living out their days in Orlais was enticing to her and maybe not so ridiculous after all. "I wonder what Bran will say when I lay that on him tonight." Giggling more now, she finished dressing and headed for the Gallows, visions of masquerade balls and lazy afternoons making love until sundown spinning around in her head.

* * *

The humbling power of the slave statues filled her eyes as Finola entered the Gallows Courtyard. She hated those statues, the symbols of past Tevinter influence on Kirkwall, heinous and discomforting symbols. As she made her way to the First Enchanter's office, she formulated a plan and pledged to have them removed and replaced with… fountains or trees, anything but reminders of Kirkwall's slave trade.

The door to First Enchanter Dering's office was ajar, but not open enough for her to just slip through. Cautiously, she eased her hand into the opening and pushed the door a little wider. Reynard Dering sat behind his desk, examining a document without looking at her. With his head bent, he focused on the missive he fiddled with in his hands.

She knocked on the door to attract his attention, waited, and then knocked again. She could feel her heart racing and thought she might have a fainting spell. _Damn it, he unnerves me so._ Dering might be confrontational, and despite her earlier bluster, she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to handle him on this morning. The main problem was she didn't have a plan for dealing with him yet. She desperately tried to keep her aching head clear.

Then Dering looked at her.

"Viscountess Hawke. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked with dry nonchalance. "Have you come to question the mages about me? Or are you looking for some of the advice I offered to you yesterday?"

His green-eyed gaze flicked over her as he appraised her quickly, watching the heat fill her cheeks and redden her face. Dering sat back and sipped his tea, taking her in through narrowed eyelids, the curl of his lips seeming to suggest that he was amused by her discomfiture. He pondered what a valuable tool she would be in helping him to restructure the Kirkwall Circle.

By and large, the people loved her and trusted her. And why wouldn't they? She was one of them, or had been before her rise to Champion. She was young, intelligent, not strikingly beautiful, but easy enough on the eyes, although she was a bit pale. More compelling to Dering was the glint in her eyes. She possessed a scheming quality in her gaze, a challenge that spoke of a woman who dealt in the shadows. Indeed, she was a worthy adversary, and more importantly, her friendship was a valuable asset to those who were fortunate enough to possess it. He felt something loosen in him and he stood quickly, stepping out from behind his desk and shutting the door with a final click.

His office was immaculate, the desk perfectly devoid of clutter, an ink well and quill at the corner. Moving deliberately, Finola walked toward the chair and sat down. "I know I came off as less than encouraging yesterday and I am simply offering you an olive branch." She found herself smiling at the sight of the neat, muscular, and well-dressed mage now sitting behind his desk. "I understand that your work is important, that you're trying to maintain a balance of peace here. We need to work together in order to bring this city back to its former glory."

"Is that so?" He rubbed his temples, staring ahead, and thinking. He sat that way for a long moment before speaking again. "That is… very different than you implied yesterday."

"I don't want my office to be a hindrance, First Enchanter. So why not start with the mages plight?"

"You are a curious woman. But I imagine your seneschal says much the same, and quite often."

"What my Seneschal does or does not say to me is irrelevant. I thought we covered this yesterday," she pointed out. "I make up my own mind when it comes to the welfare of Kirkwall and its inhabitants."

"Fair enough. Here," he said holding out a steaming cup of tea. "This is herbal tea, for you and your babe. How are you feeling?"

"I feel just fine, thank you." Wary eyes searched his, questioning his concern. He knew what she'd see mirrored in his gaze. She leaned forward, placing her cup on the desk. "Is there… something you're not telling me, something you are sensing about my health?"

"You must take care to stay active but calm when you are carrying a child. Stress can be extremely harmful to both mother and child."

"And what makes you think I'm stressed?" She crossed her legs and rested her hands on her knees.

"Well, on first glance, I can see the tension in your muscles. You are practically twitching with nervous energy."

_Shit._ "Funny, I don't feel nervous at all." Finola took a sip of tea and glanced around the room, careful not to look him in the eye until she calmed herself.

"Do I frighten you… Finola?"

Her heart leapt, but it wasn't from fear. It was revulsion, frustration, and something else, something not good, but she couldn't put a name to it. "Don't flatter yourself, Dering." The smug smile he wore never wavered, and her anxiety was quickly replaced with annoyance. "I will allow you to call me by my first name, _Reynard_. I wouldn't want to give the impression that we don't get along should others hear us."

"In time, we'll be close friends. Of that, I have no doubt." He sipped his tea, his eyes never leaving her face. "But in the interim, I would suggest you limit all taxing activities. Stress can cause a fatal attack to come over you without warning."

"Is there some reason you keep telling me this? I know you are a talented healer, but honestly, without a proper exam, how can you know how my child and I are faring?"

"Calling me _talented_ is an understatement. My skills are unequaled," he admitted boldly, then rested back on his chair. "If you should you find yourself with any complications, you should immediately seek my assistance."

Finola was unimpressed with his boasting. Yes, he was articulate and knowledgeable, but often vague and provoking. _He's intentionally trying to throw me off, the bastard._ "Yes. Well, I'll keep that in mind." She turned her head and peered out the window. "Now, can we get to more meaningful discussion?"

"As you wish," he said agreeably.

Dering kept his eyes on her profile, studying her carefully, looking for Maker only knew what, and Finola shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Where would you like to start, Reynard?"

"How about the deplorable conditions of the mage housing?"

_All right, here it comes, Finola_. The vague dizziness refused to subside, and she had to get out of the small office. Slowly, she got to her feet and tried to get her bearings. "Perhaps you should give me the grand tour. I was never allowed to see exactly how the mages live."

"Splendid idea!"

_A_ splendid _idea_ _?_ _The things that excite some people…._ As he held the door for her, a pair of young mages walked by, and they both gave her a double take, giggling and whispering to each other. _They don't teach them manners, that's for sure._

Finola found herself sweating a little as he led the tour through the bleak halls of the Circle. They paused by the narrow doorway that led to the dormitory-style bedchambers of the mages. The large chamber was quite dark, illuminated only by several narrow shafts of light from windows high on the ceiling, the only other light coming from torches and candles.

"It's so dim in here, practically a dungeon." She thought of Anders. _Had this kind of confinement and worse scarred Anders enough to make him accept the will of Justice?_ "This is not fit for man or beast."

"Precisely. And every Circle is as such. In Nevarra, my first order of business was to install more windows for sunlight, and moonlight, as well. Imagine living in this gloom every hour of the day?"

"No wonder some of them have gone mad." Finola's heart ached for the magi, and she was thankful Bethany never had to spend time in such darkness. She turned to face him squarely. "I think you should do the same here. When I get back to my office, I will find out exactly how much money we can afford to offer you for renovations. We will make Kirkwall's Circle another shining example for all of Thedas to see."

Surprised by her staunch support, he smiled, his brows rising. "Are you are giving me carte blanche to begin restoration and repair without discussing it with the Knight-Commander? I fear you will think me… audacious for doing so without his blessing."

"You don't care what I think of you," she scoffed. "And Cullen is a reasonable man, a man who also wishes only the best for our city. He will see the sound reasoning behind this."

"And just what is the reasoning behind this?"

"Why are you questioning me?" Her face took on a brighter shade of red than before. "Is it so hard to believe that I would support the Circle? After all, my father was a mage, and my sister is a mage within the Grey Wardens. Why wouldn't I want to better the lives of the magi if it's within my power to do so?"

"Not a political move then?"

"Oh, you think I'm that devious?" She laughed and shook her head, walking away.

"I'm not sure yet, but you could be."

She turned round to face him, her eyes widening. "Had you done your research, you would have learned that I conduct myself without hidden motives. Politics is not my strong suit. I may be the Viscountess, but I assure you, it is merely a title and not an accurate portrayal of the woman I truly am."

He took a step closer. "I was to understand that you only took the position to help the Prince of Starkhaven."

"Don't believe everything you hear. People like to presume and guess at my motivations, but most of them don't know anything about me."

Again, he took a step closer and now there were only inches between them. "You are a clever woman, as well as a rich one, which is rare these days. More reason to suspect you have a shrewd side." She backed up another pace. He also took a step closer. Finally, there were no more steps to be taken. She had unknowingly backed her way across the chamber and up against the edge of a bed. "But I am not saying this as an insult. Quite the opposite, in fact. It is sincere praise for your successful methods, whatever they may be."

_Why is trying to_ _torment me?_ With a tremendous effort, she sidestepped away and headed for the door, speaking loud enough for him to hear her exasperation. "Kirkwall was in need of leadership and the people looked to me, their Champion. Had there been any other candidate capable of doing the job, I would have declined and left this city. As it was, I could not, in good faith, leave only the Templars in charge until such a person miraculously appeared."

He smiled, but the smile faded as fast as it had arrived. "How very noble of you to sacrifice your future plans for Kirkwall's people." He noticed how red her face had become, how her lips trembled for a brief moment, and he thought it odd. "However, you are deluding yourself if you think I believe that you, or anyone for that matter, have such altruistic motivations."

She could have slapped his face. Restraining herself, she couldn't eliminate a certain tinge of disgust from her voice. "You needn't concern yourself with my motivations. I mean only to bring this city back to its former glory. When that job is done, I will step down and move on with my life."

Fiery as she seemed, he thought whatever she had been through had drained some of her spirit. As he looked at her face, he saw a change come over her. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead as her skin paled. He remained silent and reached out to put his fingers against her neck, checking her pulse. His fingertips warmed and energy pulsed along her every nerve as she stared at him wide-eyed, entranced by the magic flowing through her. He leaned in closer to her and whispered insistently. "You must go home and rest now, Finola."

"Rest? I will do no such thing," she stated when his fingers lifted, and she swatted his hand away.

Dering lifted an eyebrow and laid a hand on her shoulder gently. "With all due respect, I have to insist. You don't look well, and I can feel-"

"Unhand me!" She pulled away from him, fuming. When she looked into his eyes, alarm swept through her, concerned by the expression he wore. Her hand went to her stomach. "Why are you looking at me like that? Is something wrong with my child?"

"I feel a pressure building inside you. I fear… just do as I say. Or perhaps should stay here for now. We have spare rooms inside. It will pass, I'm sure."

"It can pass just as easily at the Keep then."

"Are you always this stubborn?" She didn't answer, and turned on her heel to leave. "I will escort you to the Keep then."

"That is not necessary, First Enchanter." She felt her knees shaking and her hands grow damp. For a fleeting moment, she contemplated the idea of staying there, sitting down to let it pass, but any added time spent with him would only make her more anxious.

Dering saw her pause and stare, and he took the opportunity to clasp her hands and lecture. "I am sorry that I displease you. However, I refuse to let you go alone. You may try to dissuade me from accompanying you, but you will not succeed. I am just as stubborn as you are and I could easily overtake you physically. You have no other option. "

With an obvious effort, she got herself under control. Taking a deep breath, she unclenched her fingers and smoothed them over her hips. "You surprise me, Dering. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought you were acting as my guardian angel."

He smiled, but said, "I am no angel, Finola."

"I want to go home," she said with a distress that surprised him, so he nodded his silent consent. "But keep your distance." He looked at her oddly and smirked. "You're not fooling me either, Reynard. I know what you're all about and-" Feeling dizzy and nauseated, her vision grew blurry and she swayed on her feet. Dering quickly slipped an arm around in front of her as she slumped forward, and secured his hold on her with a hand on her hip as she clutched at a desk for support.

"Three, two, one… calm," he whispered softly, then took a deep breath. Her heart was still beating as fast as a rabbit's.

Finola's voice wouldn't come, and her chest rose in quick breaths. After an eternal minute, she straightened and took several deep breaths. Dering led her through the halls and out into the courtyard. She shielded her eyes from the fierce sunlight with her free hand. " _You_ are the cause of my unrest, Dering," she whispered finally. "You and whatever magic is doing this to me."

"I have done nothing to harm you. You are unwell, and I will take you home and do a thorough examination whether you like it or not."

"This must simply be a side effect of my pregnancy and nothing that requires serious attention," she asserted, but taking precautions wouldn't hurt either. Concerned for her child, and to prove Dering wrong, she agreed to his terms. "My personal mage will be in attendance for this _thorough examination_ of yours."

"Of course. I have no desire to upset you, Finola. I have only your best interest at heart."

"Is this an attempt at altruism again?" she asked as they passed through the Gallows Courtyard.

"By my choosing, I have taken an oath as a healer." A smile played softly at the corners of his mouth, his smoldering dark eyes sparking impatience. "It is my solemn duty to protect our Viscountess' health. For the good of all, of course."

"Tch. Right."

She seethed with indignation as they climbed the steps toward the Chantry, and he kept a close eye on her erratic stride. The conversation was light, almost friendly, and he listened for any trouble she had speaking or understanding him. As they approached the Hightown Estates, her pacing slowed and she was winded, far too winded for someone of her age and physical status.

"Finola, I think it would be best if I carried you from here."

"No, no... I'm… fine," she panted. He reached out and took hold of her arm, keeping her steady.

"You are not fine. Please, let me do this." The moment his hands moved to her lower back, she flinched and moved away with strength she didn't know she possessed.

Rather than inflame her, he walked at her side, at the ready. Moments later as they neared her home, her left arm dropped and dangled at her side, seemingly unable to respond to her will. She stopped her movement, and he ran his hand along her shoulder, then down her arm.

Her voice was no more than a whisper as the world around her faded. "…get Bran…." Her face drained of all color and her eyes rolled back, her legs giving out beneath her. In one swift motion, Dering caught her in his arms, lifting her from her feet and pressing her close to him.

"Not yet, Finola. Stay with me." Racing to her house, he kicked the door open and shouted for help.

The mage, Clara, appeared from the library and dropped the book in her hands. "Maker's breath!" Clara motioned toward the stairs, running ahead of Dering to Finola's chambers. "What has happened to her?"

He ignored her question and concentrated on Finola, a frown creasing his brow. "I need water and clean cloths, and any extra lyrium you have. And then you go fetch the Seneschal immediately."

"Yes, serah. Right away!"

Dering arranged Finola on the bed, removing the pillow so her head was down against the mattress. He propped open her eyelids, noting that her pupils were dilated and equally unreactive to light. Her extremities were cold, and her pulse was now weak. Blue light emanated from his fingertips as he ran his hands from her head down to her toes and then back up again. His fingers touched her head, the healing energy pouring forth in waves of blue and purple. He reached into his pocket and drank down a vial of lyrium, then continued his ministrations. He repeated the same actions, an hour passing as he systematically slowed her heart rate and sealed the veins and arteries leaking blood into her system.

Bran burst through the door, frantic, with Clara on his heels, both breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping through their bodies. Bran was acutely aware of every detail in the room: Dering hovering over Finola, the dimness lit only by the flickering candles all around them, and the lurking dread heightening his awareness of the situation.

"What have you done to her?" Bran shouted. He ran to the bed and touched Finola's face with a shaky hand. "Maker, she's frozen. Is she…?" The word stuck in his throat. He only managed to get out a few sounds, and then he stalled. When he looked up at Dering, Bran's eyes glazed over. "Is she… dying?" he asked, the words quivering when he forced them out.

Dering's face was twisted in concentration, but as he shifted to address Bran, his eyes were disturbingly cold and unemotional, as if two people inhabited the same body. "There is bleeding within her head, bleeding that will kill her if it is not stopped."

Overcome with fear, Bran's eyes bore into Dering's. "Then stop it, damn you! What are you waiting for?"

"I have slowed the bleeding already, but this is not something to do recklessly. It must be done methodically."

"By the Maker, if you had anything to do with this…."

"I have nothing to gain by harming the Viscountess and her child, and a great deal to lose. You must allow me to use my unique skills as a healer to-"

"Clara, heal her immediately," Bran ordered, his eyes threatening.

The young mage laid her hands on Finola's head gently, assessing her condition. Bran looked to her, his eyes pleading. She could only shake her head as the tears formed. "I cannot heal this kind of sickness, Seneschal. It is well beyond my training, most mages' training. Under any other circumstance, the patient would not survive." Her eyes flitted back and forth between Dering and Bran. "The First Enchanter's skills as a healer are well known throughout Thedas. I think he is her only hope."

Bran felt his heart crumble into pieces. He looked away, his mind churning with confusing possibilities, but only one solution came. Finally, he nodded, knowing what he had to do and almost welcoming the decision, even with the trouble it would surely bring. He straightened, took a breath, and looked at Dering. "You do it then, and Maker help you if she dies."

"As it is, she may still suffer from temporary paralysis, loss of vision or hearing, slurred speech. The worst case scenario would have her in a catatonic state, unable to communicate with anyone."

"Andraste, no." The love of his life lay limp on the bed and bleeding internally. With his heart in his throat, Bran settled against the backboard, stroking her hair and willing everything to go back to the way it should be. "Is the babe still…?"

"The babe yet lives, for now." Dering rolled his head from side to side, trying to shake off the fatigue, then placed his hands on Finola again.

"Why did this happen to her? What caused this?" The questions were in Bran's head, and he was surprised they had snuck out before he could stop them. For his part, Dering offered him a sympathetic look. "It is no one's fault, not yours, and not mine. I have seen it before, mainly in older folk, but sometimes in women who are with child. But I cannot say a specific cause for certain."

"Maker's blood, I can't believe this is happening to her. Are you sure you can save her?"

"I am. My methods are somewhat… unorthodox, but I assure you, I am her only hope."

"If it's blood magic, that's fine. Use any magic you need, I don't care. Just heal her!"

"I _am_ healing her," he asserted, "but it must be done in timely intervals, and it's not exactly blood magic. I would use your life force to repair that which cannot be repaired with conventional magic practices."

Bran's fury dissipated and he leaned toward Finola, whispering so softly that he could scarcely be heard. His eyes never once left her face, and if there was regret or remorse in his words, no one heard it. "My life for hers then," he agreed.

"No, no, nothing so drastic. But you will lose one, maybe two years of your life." Dering watched the relief on Bran's face turn to surprise. "You look healthy and virile though. I suspect you have many more years left in those bones, Seneschal."

"And the child?" Bran asked, bracing himself for whatever was to come.

"The child will live as well."

"Do what you must then, and I will see to it that you are well compensated for your efforts."

"Healing Finola does come with a price, but it's not your money I require, Seneschal." Bran's head snapped up at his comment, his eyes locked on the mage's. "There may come a time when I need the Viscountess' unique skills or assistance from her office in my endeavors as First Enchanter or something more… delicate in nature. I honestly can't say what my future requests might be, but you must swear to assist me in any way you can when the time comes."

"You'll not have her, Dering. Not while I draw breath." Bran's voice held a threatening weight.

Dering didn't move, didn't flinch. "Fear not, Seneschal. I don't want her for my own. However, I think she will be instrumental in my plans sometime soon." Dering held her head in his hands once again, the healing energy bringing a small amount of warmth back to her skin. He glanced at Bran and smiled an arrogant smile. "In any case, take a few minutes to think this over. It is an important decision, is it not? I'll be back for the next phase of healing shortly, that is if you agree to it." Dering left immediately with Clara close behind him.

Bran paced the room, mumbling to himself. "Dering can take over this Maker forsaken city for all I care. But," he paused as he gazed at Finola's motionless body. "What if it's something personal? What if our child is born with an affinity for magic?"

Bran shook his head, wringing his hands and sitting down next to Finola, staring at her, the certainty of the situation striking like a lightning bolt. "You'll have my head, won't you? I know you don't want to be obligated to such a man, but I can't let you die, Fin. I have no choice." Who was he trying to convince? "If it came down to it, we'd leave, disappear. Our child will _never_ be under the rule of any Circle if he or she were born with those abilities. Never."

The door opened withcreak and closed with a muffled thud. The almighty mage was back.

"Have you come to a decision? Will you swear to aid me or shall I be on my way back to the Gallows?"

"You're nothing but a wolf dressed in a sheep skin," Bran spat.

"If you think that insults me, you're off target." He arched an eyebrow. "Now, swear it, Seneschal."

Bran looked into his dark eyes and saw no yielding in their depths. "I will swear to anything you ask, within reason, of course."

Dering's fingers radiated magic into Finola's shoulders and neck. "And if I make more than a reasonable request?"

Bran felt a heavy blanket of despair dropping over him, and its weight might have suffocated him if he were a different man. The last time he had seen someone look as sickly as Finola did, he found himself arranging his wife's funeral the next day, but every little spark from the mage's fingertips healed some small damage inside her. _What could he possibly ask of us that we couldn't give him?_

With a resolute hand held out to seal the deal, Bran said, "It will be done."

"So be it." Dering paused, then shook his hand. "Now, sit down and take my hand and Finola's hand. You may fall unconscious for a time, but upon waking, you will feel no different."

As if in slow motion, Bran reached out and grasped Dering's hand, his other hand holding Finola tight. The mage began chanting words that were unknown to Bran as a purplish fog flowed into the room and settled over the bed. Bran's vision grew dim, a powerful energy taking his breath away as it raced from one arm across his chest to the other arm. Then everything went black.

Yet he did not believe he had closed his eyes. Out of the blackness, sight slowly emerged again. And someone was hovering over him. _Clara_.

"Serah? Seneschal, are you all right?"

Clara smiled, but Bran had no recollection as to how he ended up on the floor. In his mouth, a terrible thirst burned with the intensity of fever, his tongue rasping like dry leather. He whimpered and forced himself to sit up, looking around in an owlish manner, gaining his bearings. "How long… have I been out?"

"About five minutes."

Bran's eyes went to the bed where Finola laid, Dering now sitting at her side and looking exhausted. Stark reality assaulted him, and he got to his feet clumsily. "Is she… Finola, is she healed?" Dering just stared at him, and Bran realized that he hadn't actually spoken aloud. "Is she well again?" he asked, loudly.

"She lives, as does the child. I think the side effects will be minimal as well. When Finola awakens, I will evaluate her abilities."

Relief flooded Bran's body and he went to her, dropping down beside the bed and laying his hands on her cheeks, now warm with color. She and their child were alive, and he was with her. That was all that mattered. He could have stayed that way for the rest of the day, just holding her hand, seeing the easy rise and fall of her breathing, but Dering still had work to do.

"How long until she wakes?"

"Possibly not until tomorrow. However, I may try to revive her some, get her blood flowing more freely, and that could cause her to awaken briefly."

"And there would be no danger in doing so?"

"No. In fact, I think it will be beneficial. I was merely awaiting your approval, Seneschal."

"I approve then." Dering smirked and took Finola's hand, casting a rejuvenation spell. A slight twitch of her muscles alerted Bran, and he held his breath.

Dering glanced over him. "Not even a word of thanks for the services I rendered humbly?"

It was difficult to show appreciation when Dering might as well have spat in his face. "You have my gratitude, Dering... _our_ gratitude," he said, forcing his words to sound more sincere than they were.

"Perhaps Finola will be more gracious towards me when she fully understands our arrangement."

"Finola will be outraged. I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"Ah, but you are not me, Seneschal, and you never could be."

Finola's movements distracted them, keeping their confrontation from escalating. Bran didn't say what was on the tip of his tongue as he watched her slowly awaken. Both men looked at her, silent and cautious.

With some degree of difficulty, she saw Bran's face in front of her own. She recognized him; Bran saw it at once.

"Thank the Maker," he whispered, "I thought I might never see your gaze again."

Finola could not turn her head, and her vision went in and out. Her lips moved, but no sounds came at first, the lines in her forehead deepening as she tried to move her head back and forth. But if she focused, if she set her mind to it, she could sense the air coming into her lungs and out of her mouth. She swallowed and tried to speak again, and this time there were sounds, quivering and faint.

"Mmm… B-b…mmm…." She exhaled a frustrated breath and tried again while Bran struggled to hold himself together. "B-b…Brr… Bran." She whispered his name, as clearly as she ever had, and then whispered it again, and again.

"Yes, Finola. I'm here," Bran said, reaching out and tracing a finger across her cheek, seeing the question in her tired eyes. "The babe is fine too, don't worry." Her eyes closed for a moment, and then Dering spoke up.

"Allow me to examine her, please." Dering tried to make his voice sound indifferent while inside waves of unease rolled through him. Skilled as he was, healing an illness of this magnitude was never certain.

Bran moved to the other side of the bed, his eyes never leaving Finola's as Dering ran his hands along her body. "How is she?" he asked, more desperately than he'd intended.

"All things considered, she is doing well. Her eyes react to the light and dark," he said, waving his hand over her eyes, then his fingertips touched her head. "Her brain function appears stable as well, but we won't know if she has any paralysis until she's up and around. It will take some time for her to fully rouse." Dering poured a couple drops of a health potion onto her lips. "Lick your lips, Finola," he directed, and she did. Dering nodded his satisfaction with her recovery.

The knowledge of who was attending to her was evident in Finola's eyes, although Bran was quite surprised he didn't see more animosity there _. I'm sure I'll see more than my share of it when she hears the whole story._

"She will probably sleep well into tomorrow afternoon," Dering continued, "with some moments of wakefulness here and there. Do not be concerned as it is perfectly normal. But when she _is_ awake, give her some more medication, as much as she can tolerate, and then some nourishment if she can sit up. I'll come back tomorrow to check on her."

Her eyelids fluttered, and a slight smile moved the corners of her mouth. An hour before, Finola had been unconscious, near death. Now, when Bran squeezed her hand, he received a squeeze in return. Being in Dering's debt was beyond disturbing, but they would swim those turbulent waters when the time came. For now, Bran was content to live in the moment; she was alive and carrying his child, the future be damned.

"Bran…."

Hearing her say his name caused such emotion to stir in Bran's heart, he couldn't contain his joy, and he leaned over to whisper in her ear. What he said, Dering and Clara couldn't hear, but judging by the little noise Finola made and the way her smile grew, Dering understood and discreetly turned to leave the room.

Clara's gaze followed the First Enchanter. With his striking good looks and aristocratic bearing, he was a dashing figure to behold. She also admired his healing skills, hoping to be as accomplished as he was some day.

Dering knew she was watching him, and as he looked back over his shoulder, he winked at her, and she smiled awkwardly. Then his gaze changed, his eyes reflecting a malevolence that Clara had seen few times before, and it curdled her blood. She thought she had stepped into personal and private territory and instantly regretted staring at him. But why would her appreciation for the First Enchanter bother him to the point of a threatening glare? Her eyes went wide for only a brief instant **,** fear for herself, as well as Finola seeping into her veins involuntarily. Flustered, she began straightening out the sheets, wondering if it was time to find a new job somewhere far away from Kirkwall.


	17. Recovery

The news about Finola collapsing into the arms of the new First Enchanter had spread through Kirkwall like a warehouse fire in the summer. Aveline went straight to Varric the moment she heard, and they weren't sure what to make of Finola's illness. They could only assume it had something to do with her pregnancy, a pregnancy no one except her close friends knew about yet. Varric had never heard of or seen a time when Finola was not in top form, which concerned him all the more as he and Aveline made their way toward her home in companionable silence, although the Guard Captain was trailing behind. Aveline was only a month away from giving birth, and as she walked along, one hand on her enormous belly, he understood her reluctance. Forcing his legs to move, Varric offered a silent prayer to any god who happened to be listening.

"Move it, Aveline. Doesn't look good if the Captain of the Guard can't keep up with a dwarf."

She picked up the pace, sidling up to Varric, her voice concerned. "Whatever this sudden illness is, we need to quash all the gossip before it gets more out of hand. It won't sit well with the city folk if it looks like Hawke's trying to hide something. And if it's due to her pregnancy, then she should make it public already."

"Spreading the truth of a matter is not something I usually do. This could be fun!" The eager gleam in his eyes faded quickly. "On the other hand, no one's gonna believe me. Your office better handle it."

The rumors were indeed flourishing, some saying she had been poisoned and had died in the First Enchanter's arms—and good riddance. Others said she had pretended to faint to be alone with handsome Reynard Dering while her lover, the Seneschal, slaved away at the Keep doing _her_ job. The vast majority, however, feared the worst for their Viscountess. Kirkwall was on the mend under her leadership as evidenced by the swift rebuilding of the Chantry, which was close to completion. Trade with new cities had begun, bringing in a wealth of exciting new goods. Crime rates were down thanks to the City Guard, which Finola supported unabashedly, both financially and vocally. There were fewer complaints and more praise for her office than her predecessors had ever heard. The new First Enchanter also seemed to be a forward thinker, and the real work of bringing the mages and templars to a common ground had just begun when she took ill.

When Varric and Aveline entered Finola's home, Clara, her personal mage, explained the situation, telling them that she'd had bleeding within her skull and swelling of the brain. Luckily, the First Enchanter was a superior healer, able to save Finola and the baby before they were taken to the Maker's side. Mulling over the information, Varric and Aveline waited in the sitting room of Finola's house, eager to see her condition for themselves.

* * *

The late morning's light streamed past the open curtains in Finola's chambers. Rousing from sleep, she scanned the room, noticing a candle on the desk near her, almost burned down to its end, and the dying embers in the hearth crackling. Her gaze shifted left, and there was Bran resting on a chair next to the bed, his eyes closed as he lazily scratched Finnegan's head. A manuscript looked to have slid onto his lap in the night, the pages folded and crinkled. Never had she seen him so careless with reading material before, slouched down in the chair as he was. The state of his clothes alarmed her as well. He still wore the same forest-green doublet he'd worn the day before, no longer fresh and wrinkle-free, but rumpled and sweat stained. He looked more like one of the regulars at the Hanged Man than her beloved Bran.

She flexed and shifted, trying to stretch the unyielding muscles of her legs and arms, but her body felt as tight as a coiled spring. Something deep inside her responded with such a fierce need to move she could barely breathe. She swallowed hard, her mouth feeling as if it were full of sand, and her body jerked with the effort it took to bend her joints. Bran's head snapped around like he'd been hit by a shock wave. He went to her side instantly.

"Take it easy, Finola. And good morning," he said softly. "Actually, it is almost afternoon. You must be rather stiff. I don't think you've moved at all since yesterday." He kissed her forehead, brushing away the tendrils of hair that clung to her skin. "You're no longer clammy, and your complexion has pinked up quite a bit," he told her, relief evident in his weary voice. "In fact, you're positively glowing compared to yesterday, my dear. Thank the Maker."

She ran her tongue over her dry lips through a weak smile, her throat parched almost to the point of pain. "Water," she whispered, then coughed weakly. He put a cup to her mouth, supporting her head with his other hand. She was astonished at how good water could taste. "More." She swallowed the whole glassful, and then another, the last drops sputtering from her lips. Bran dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief before the water had a chance to trickle down her chin. "Catching my drool… all night long too?" Her brow furrowed, and if she hadn't been so dehydrated, tears would have sprung from her eyes.

"Do not be so hard on yourself, Fin. You've been sound asleep for almost a full day."

She made a noise that all but dismissed his statement of fact. Much less groggy than the night before, she stared at Bran, studying his expression. The fine lines on his face seemed to have deepened overnight, and cavernous dark circles dulled the usual brightness in his eyes, which were more bloodshot than whiskey-colored. "Are you all right, Bran?"

His lips twitched a bit, as if he were trying to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "I'm fine," he said sharply, not looking at her. "I hate to do this to you the moment you awaken, but you need to take this medicine now," he said, shaking a vial.

Her eyes closed for a moment. "If you say so." Though it was hard to do, she put all her faith in him, knowing her needs were foremost in his mind. "Please, another pillow under my head… hate being flat on my back." She managed a grateful smile as he stuffed a pillow under her, and then she sipped from the vial he placed at her lips. The health potion tasted like a chalky combination of cherries and grass, and she winced as it went down, but took as much as she could. It gave her a good boost of strength, her vision sharpening some more as warmth spread through her limbs. "That's truly awful."

"Maybe so, but get used to the flavor. There are many more to drink today."

Bran stared at her, and she wondered why he wasn't saying much about her illness. _He's been out of his mind with worry, that's why._ Reaching for his face, her hand trembled as it rose, but he grabbed it and placed it on his cheek.

"I'm all right, Bran." She cleared her throat, forcing her voice louder. "But you look like shit."

"Such an astute observation," he said with an air of mockery, but his slight smile belied the sarcastic tone. "I'll take that as a positive sign that you're feeling more yourself."

"You shouldn't worry about me anymore. Have you slept at all?"

"I've nodded off here and there."

"You've been up since yesterday morning?" Her voice cracked. Maker, how she hated to be the cause of his anxiety. "Really, Bran, you have to take better care of yourself. There's so much to do, for the baby, for Kirkwall." Her hand moved under the blankets, reaching for an itch on her hip but having some trouble with coordination. "That didn't come out right. I just… I don't want anything to happen to you. Who will take care of things if I don't fully recover or if things take a turn for the worse or-"

"Nonsense. You'll be fine," he said. "As for me, losing some sleep is hardly enough reason for any illness to overtake me. Now that you're on the mend, I've no doubt my sleep pattern shall return to its regular bouts of slumber and wakefulness… depending on how much you snore on any given night."

"I do not snore." She grinned and continued to reach for the itch, spreading her fingers out, deep concentration sharpening her features. She noticed how Bran observed her every movement, tracking her hand as it searched under the blanket. _Curious_. "And you could have had one of our _paid_ employees watch over me all night."

"At the time, I thought the man who loves you more than anyone ever will was the best option."

His tone didn't complement the sweetness of the words, and she saw a shadow linger in his eyes a little too long. But the itch was almost unbearable now and she focused on taking care of it before questioning him. With much effort, she seized what she thought would be her smalls only to feel a peculiar fabric between her fingertips. It was thick and gauzy and clearly not her favorite silky undergarment. Stark reality hit her like a sledgehammer. "I'm lying on a… a what? A giant _nappy_?" she gasped, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "I've _never_ been incapable of… Oh, how humiliating," she moaned. "I could always…." Unbidden tears began to cloud her vision, and she swallowed hard to push down the sob that wanted to escape as it battled her resolve. "At least you didn't put it on me."

"Only Clara and I have tended to you," he said quickly, his words almost slurred together. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about here. It's just there in case…There _was_ no other option."

"So now I'm totally helpless? Shit." Her hand went to cover her eyes as the sob prevailed, escaping along with a faint keening cry. Her body shook as she acknowledged the truth of the matter. "The Champion and Viscountess of Kirkwall," she paused, whimpering and snorting, "is seemingly incontinent." More sniffles and cries filled the room, and it was clear she had lost all control of her emotions when her cries turned shrill. "I'm weak as a baby and frail as a dying old maid," she said, laughing and crying in near-hysteria.

"Oh, Fin, you are not. Not at all. It was merely a precaution, but let's get rid of it." His hand slipped under the blanket, and he yanked the confounded thing out when she lifted her hips a little. Then he gathered her into his arms, his own repressed tears stinging as he did so. "We'll get you up and around as soon as possible." Gentle hands held her face, his gaze uncompromising now. "I _will_ see to it."

With the slightest of nods, she acquiesced, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "Tell me more. He said the baby was fine last night. Unequivocally fine?"

"Yes, the baby is thriving. Clara said the same."

"And what of this mysterious condition. What exactly was the cause of it? Some sort of disease? Or was it Dering's magic?"

"As much as I don't trust Dering, I don't think he had anything to do with this. He said you had swelling and bleeding of the brain. A stroke, Fin. Not so mysterious after all."

"A stroke?" The very idea had her heart racing. "I thought only the elderly had strokes. I can't believe this happened to _me_. I'm never sick."

"Sometimes women with child can suffer them too. But you _are_ healed."

"And he healed me with magic. No other unconventional methods, right?"

"That is… correct." He nodded to reinforce his answer with eyes just a tad too wide.

"You're not convincing me, Bran. What exactly did he do?"

"Well, at least there were no leeches used for bloodletting," he said, attempting humor, but she didn't crack a smile. "Dering should be here to check on you soon. He can give all the details."

"I want to get out of this bed. Right now. And then you're going to tell me everything."

"Now just wait a minute, Fin. Why don't you try sitting up first, lest you faint as the blood rushes to your head. Let me help you."

"No! I want to do it on my own." She tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but her head swam and her muscles trembled under the exertion. Sinking back against the pillows, she winced as she put her hand to her forehead again, more frustrated tears falling.

"Please don't rush this, Fin," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to pull himself together and not having much luck. "Allow me to take care of you for now, and once the First Enchanter clears you for further activity, you can push yourself harder."

"Give me some more medicine, and get Clara in here. Maybe she can cast a rejuvenation spell."

"I'll give you the health tonic, but I will not allow Clara to rejuvenate you yet."

"Damn it, Bran, this is torture for me. It's a bloody nightmare. Can't you see that?"

"I know it is, I honestly do, and if I could take all this suffering from you I'd do it." He took her hand in his and kissed her palm, then pressed it against his chest. "I almost lost you yesterday, and for a moment, I nearly lost myself in the insanity of it all. Then I thought about what you would do if you were in my place, watching the life drain from the one person you care most about, someone you're not sure you can live without."

She sighed. "Survival at all costs, and damn the consequences."

"Exactly. Absolute pragmatism. The fear I felt for you, for our child… it was overwhelming, Fin. Completely overwhelming. But I channeled your strength and survival instincts and made the decision that I would not, under any circumstance, allow you to die without doing everything in my power to keep you here with me."

Maker, how she hated the pain in his voice, the faint quiver under its deep resolve. "Oh, Bran, I do love you. But you know me. You know I have no tolerance for this kind of confinement, that it turns me into a shrieking witch of a woman."

"You are no witch, and you are not shrieking, not yet anyway." She smiled at that. "I understand perfectly well how hard this is for you. But you _must_ be patient." She sipped from the vial he placed at her lips until it was empty. "There."

"My left hand… it's…tingling." She made a fist and released it, and then did it several more times. "I can feel it and yet, it's like it's fallen asleep."

"How's that?" he asked as he rubbed her hand between both of his.

"Better. But don't stop. I need to _feel_ you." She sighed again, louder this time. "Maker's breath, what if I'm never right again? What if I'm so weak and dizzy I can't stand or walk? I'm never leaving this bed, I just know it."

"Do I honestly have to lecture you already? You have just woken up after a serious illness. You need to take a deep breath and think rationally for a moment. You have none of the side effects Dering mentioned that might arise. No slurred speech, no paralysis. The weakness and tingling will pass. Do you have a headache? Are you, in fact, dizzy or nauseated at all?"

"No."

"See?"

"I know you're right, but…." Shifting again, she rolled onto her side and wiggled for leverage. "Just help me _a little_."

"Here," he said, moving to put his hand behind her back. "I'll give you a bit of a pull upward."

As he snaked an arm around her lower back, she managed to use her stomach muscles to help pull her upper body forward. Then he hoisted her upward, mindful of the tremendous effort she was putting in but giving her some space to do what she could on her own. If she'd had the energy, she would have kissed him fiercely for it.

"Now lean back against the headboard and see how it feels."

"Yes, this is much better." She flexed her arms in front of her, and again, her left arm was weaker than the other, but only slightly. Bran said nothing, but squeezed her hand and smiled. "Bran, I'm sorry for worrying you so."

"No apology necessary," he said firmly, then stood and walked to the door.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, cursing the panic in her voice.

"Of course not. Clara!" The young mage bounded up the stairs and into the room, her robes swishing from side to side. "Finola is awake, and I'd like you to give her as thorough an examination as you can. Then you can have Orana bring her something nourishing to eat."

The mage's face lit up. "Oh, it's so wonderful to see you awake! How are you feeling?"

"Like a ragdoll, to be honest."

"I'm not surprised." Clara looked her over, inspected her limbs, examined her eyes, and rested her hands on her head for a brief moment. "So far, so good. I don't detect any bleeding, and the swelling is gone. Amazing what the First Enchanter accomplished under the circumstances."

"Yes," Finola said, skeptically. "And I'd like to hear more about that when you're done."

Clara nodded and asked for her left hand. She saw how it trembled slightly as she lifted it, but said nothing to alarm Finola.

"Are you in any pain, especially from the neck up?" Finola shook her head. "Any numbness or tingling?" She shook her head again, but Clara heard Bran's low growl of displeasure. "So you feel perfectly normal then? Ready and able to fight a dozen Qunari? It's a miracle!"

"Are you sassing me?"

"I would never," Clara said with feigned honesty.

Bran snickered at Clara's cheekiness and went around to the other side of the bed. "Good girl," he said, just loud enough for Finola to hear.

"Well, as you _both_ can plainly see, I'm still in bed." Quicker than Finola realized, the mage poked her fingertip with a needle. "Ow! For Maker's sake, Clara, you could have warned me."

"She doesn't trust you to be honest in your assessment," Bran said, "and I can't blame her."

"All right, you two. I get it," Finola said, squaring her shoulders. "No, I am not at peak performance, but I will be soon."

"Just keep aware of these temporary limitations," the mage said. "I suggest you take the First Enchanter's advice over mine though. Shall I show him right up when he arrives?"

"I suppose," Finola replied. "Clara, you were here the whole time he healed me, right?"

"Yes, and I was in awe of his healing skills."

"I bet," Finola said, although to be honest, she was a bit taken with his abilities too. "So you didn't get the sense that he was responsible for my illness?"

"Not at all…." The mage paused with a faraway look for a moment. "Well, not in any way that I saw."

"You just hesitated. Why? What did you see?"

"Nothing as far as his care for you." Finola watched as Clara's eyes darted to Bran's steely gaze and back again. "I don't know. He looked at me strangely when he left. One second he was smiling, and the next, his whole demeanor changed, like a dark energy came over him. Even his eyes seemed to change from green to dark grey. I don't know how else to describe it. It frightened me."

She gave Bran a sidelong glance. "And why are you so quiet? What happened that you're not telling me?"

Bran maintained a facade of unruffled composure. "This is not the time to get into the details that transpired yesterday, Fin."

Her cheeks reddened a bit as she spoke, a hint of menace in her stare. "Start talking, Bran, or I swear…."

"All right. Calm down though," he said. "Clara, would you mind?"'

"Of course. Oh, I almost forgot! The Guard Captain and Varric Tethras are here to see you."

"Great." Finola was agitated now and receiving visitors was the last thing she wanted to deal with. "Give us about twenty minutes so I can at least try to look human again. And have a snack sent up. Something like… chocolate pastries and a cup of tea with lots of sugar."

"No, no, no," Bran said, quite appalled. "A bowl of beef consommé, some fresh berries, and a cup of buttermilk, please. Healthy foods will benefit you more right now."

"Maybe physically, but not mentally."

"You just leave the mental healing to me, Fin."

When Clara closed the door behind her, Finola stared at Bran. "Out with it, Seneschal."

He sat next her, letting out a worn out sigh as if he'd been holding his breath for hours. He brushed his forehead with the back of his hand. "I rushed here from the Keep and found Dering hovering over you on the bed."

"Can you hand me that hairbrush?" she asked, pointing to the nightstand. "Okay, and then what?"

"You were so pale, deathly white, and barely breathing." He grimaced and shook his head at the memory. "He told me you were near death and that I had to decide how I would like him to proceed. I told him to heal you at all costs."

Slowly and methodically, Bran told her more details of the previous morning, and she could only hope the story would remain as straightforward as it was so far.

* * *

"What do you have in there, like three of 'em?" Varric asked, his eyes falling on the immense swell of Aveline's belly as she shifted uncomfortably.

"Just one, Varric. Have you never seen a woman with child before?"

"Sure, but you look like you swallowed a-" He stopped when Aveline pinned him with 'the glare of pregnant fury' she used in place of words lately. "Well, you know how it is with us men. We're clueless."

"And I know Hawke doesn't stand for that sort of comment," she snapped." So you thought you'd get it out of your system and lay it on me, right? Well don't."

He whistled in a pitch that slowly dropped in tone. "Incoming!" Unable to resist the next taunt on the tip of his tongue, he said, "I tell ya', Donnic is one patient guy. Though I wager you'd just kick the crap out of him if he so much as-"

"Varric." She tipped her head, wide eyed. "New. Topic."

"Alrighty then." He glanced around the room before standing up to pace. "Maker's breath, I can't imagine Hawke being out of commission the way Clara says she is. I'd never have thought she'd…." he trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"I know." Aveline sighed, rubbing her belly with a lopsided smile. "But her babe is thriving, and Finola will soon be back at it."

"And what do we say to Wyndham?"

"Whatever comes to mind, I suppose. He might be half crazy by now. Whatever we say, he probably won't remember anyway."

"You do know we're talking about the seneschal here. Everything you say is tattooed on his brain, to use when you least expect it."

"True enough, but I also know he loves her. Not sure why sometimes, but he certainly does. He'll do everything in his power to get her through this." She dropped her voice to almost a whisper. "You know she loves you like a brother, Varric. It might help her recovery if you show some of that concern you're bottling up."

"Me? Nah. I'm just hanging around to get the story for my memoirs."

Aveline just shook her head as Clara came down the stairs, all smiles. "Guard Captain and Messere Varric, I was told to have you wait just a little while longer while the Viscountess makes herself presentable."

"So she's awake and lucid?" Aveline asked, relief and hope in her voice.

"Yes, thank the Maker. She's very tired, and poor Seneschal Bran hasn't had but a few minutes of rest since yesterday. But they are both glad you came for a visit."

"Well, that _is_ good news," Aveline said.

"In the meantime, I'll have Orana serve some refreshments and biscuits."

"That sounds good," Varric said, his appetite suddenly reappearing and rumbling his stomach. "I could really go for something sweet. How about the red currant preserves from Orlais, the one Hawke hates to share. You know, to make up for all the waiting around." He leaned closer to the mage and whispered. "It'll be our little secret."

"Oh, I don't know, Messere. She always knows when someone sneaks it."

"Oh, for the love of…." Aveline stood, her distended stomach looming before the petite mage like a boulder. "Just have Orana bring the man some damn preserves. We'll take full responsibility for it and repay her if need be."

"Well, all right. I'll tell her Finola were celebrating her recovery," Clara said with a chipper smile and scurried off.

"Maker, Hawke runs this place with an iron fist, eh?" Varric said.

"That she does. Although, to be honest, she has mellowed some under Bran's influence."

"Yeah, sure she has," he said, then chuckled at such a ridiculous thought. "By the time her kid comes, Hawke'll be as mellow as a songbird, right? Wrong. "

"Finola will change, almost immediately. As soon as her baby is in her arms, she'll be a different woman, I guarantee it. How about we make a friendly bet on it, Varric?"

"Why Guard Captain Hendyr, it seems you're the one who's mellowed."

"Stow it, Varric. You want to wager or not?"

"Absolutely! How 'bout the loser cleans the winner's house weekly for six months?"

"You're on, Tethras."

"And that means you, not Donnic, and not some paid lackey. And no excuses, not even your newborn babe."

"Varric, my stout friend, I suggest you invest in a mop and pail very soon." As Orana came back into the room with the snacks, she added, "Hawke and I have a lot in common now, you know. Ten silvers say she'll smile at me before she smiles at you when we walk into her room."

Varric simply shook his head and slathered a heaping spoonful of the legendary, and pricey, red currant preserves on his biscuit. "That's a bet I'll take. She won't be smiling because her jaw'll be hitting the floor when she sees your belly coming at her." He ducked as a biscuit flew past his head.

* * *

"Get down to brass tacks already," Finola asserted, tiring of Bran's obvious subterfuge. "What _exactly_ did Dering do?"

"He saved your life."

"Yes, I got that part. What else? Did you have to pay him?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"And?"

"He requested aid for his cause."

"Aid? In the form of money or something else?"

"He wasn't specific."

"Can't you answer with more than a few words?" she asked with a punch to the bed for emphasis.

"He didn't want funds," Bran said. "He merely suggested that your help in the future was a possibility."

"I want to help the mages and he knows that. No, it must be something else." She made a curious face. "Did he use blood magic?"

"No, it was some other type of magic, something I've never been witness to."

"Describe it. Maybe I've seen it elsewhere over the years."

"I can't actually say much about it. I was rather… incapacitated at the time."

"What does that mean?" she asked, her eyes blazing. "Did he do something to you?"

"I did pass out for a time. But it worked and you're fine now, so-"

"Please, Bran! Don't try to spare me the details, damn it."

"Promise you will _not_ be angry with me, Fin."

She nodded. "I'm just frustrated. Tell me."

"He had me hold your hand _and_ his when he did the incantation, and the surge of magic knocked me out. When I awoke, you were healed."

" _You_ were involved?" she asked, her breath hitching. "The only time I've seen that is when a person imparts some energy or… life force. Oh Bran, tell me you didn't… Tell me you didn't allow him to do that. You could have died!"

"It was nothing quite so final, just a year or so," he said, barely above a whisper. "I feel no different."

"Just a year? Why? Why would you…oh, Maker, I know why, but Bran, I would never have allowed you to lose any time on this earth if I had been coherent enough to stop it. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do. At first, I thought he meant I had to give my life for yours and the baby's, and I would have, Finola."

"Maker, I would have done the same." She slumped against the pillows and closed her eyes. "This is such a disaster. Was I really so close to death?"

"You were. I had no choice but to trust he would save you both."

"That bastard. I guarantee there was more to it than that. I wouldn't be surprised if he lied about the whole thing."

"Clara confirmed that you would likely die if he did not intervene. Tell me what happened when you were with him earlier in the morning?"

"Not much really. We were touring the Circle dormitories and I didn't feel well." The details were as clear then as they had been the day before, but Bran didn't need to hear it _all_ just yet. "I was agitated, had a headache, felt kind of dizzy. The last thing I remember was asking for you before I blacked out."

"Perhaps Dering will pontificate further when he arrives."

The frustration she held, the confusion, had to have been on full display. When Bran changed the subject, she knew it was as hard for him as it was for her to discuss her near-death experience.

"I've been thinking of names for our baby, Fin. On the one hand, we can use a family name, but on the other, we can use something new and exciting."

"Oh Bran, I was so worried for our baby," she admitted, still reeling from all the information he'd just given her. Her face fell, the thought grabbing at something deep inside her. "If anything had happened to her... or him… Damn it. I'm not trying to be negative, but this is all so much to take in."

"Well, it will certainly make an interesting bedtime story some day. Maker, I still can't believe I'm to be a father again." The faraway look in his eyes was quick. He turned to her and smiled, his hand gently smoothing over her belly. "We'll send her to the finest learning institutions, and she'll have a horse and a garden to tend, and she'll feel safe and secure. She'll have everything we didn't have."

"Really, Bran. You can't spoil our child that much, whether it's a boy or a girl, or they'll never know how to make their own way."

"If _she_ is anything like her mother, she'll do just fine. And if it's a he, well then, no worries at all!"

"I think it's a girl," she said with a haughty air. "But either way, I-"

The sound of footsteps on the stairs halted the conversation.

"Oh, here they come. Ready?"

"Always."

Aveline came in first, a bowlful of berries in her hands. Varric followed, gripping a cup of butter milk in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other.

"Hawke! Man, you look like Corff after a long night of swill and roasted nug."

"Thanks, Varric. That's almost a compliment."

"How are you really, Hawke?" Aveline asked as she set the berries down.

"Well enough, I suppose. That was certainly the closest I've been to meeting the Maker." Aveline stepped closer. Finola couldn't tear her eyes away from the giant swell of her belly. "Wow, Aveline, you're enormous. You sure the baby isn't due today?"

"Quite sure. He's just on the large side," she said with a proud smile. "My family has a long history of robust babies."

"Thankfully, mine does not," Finola said, looking quite horrified.

Bran's eyes never left Finola's face, not even to greet their guests. "Even if you were as big as a bronto, you'd still be lovely."

A chorus of groans from her friends made Finola laugh, and it was contagious.

"It's lack of sleep that's made me as absurd as a schoolboy in love," Bran admitted, and he had to chuckle at his own romantic theatrics. "Thank you both for coming."

Still laughing, Varric stepped closer to the bed and gestured, asking if he could sit on the edge, to which Finola nodded. "It's good to see you laugh, Hawke."

"So tell me, any news?"

"Same old shit. Though, you may be interested in hearing some news about the Grey Wardens and their plans."

"Oh yeah?" That had her perk up. "Any news of Bethany?"

"Well, Ham Hands Hudson said the Wardens were making a sweep south of Starkhaven. A few locals said they spotted some darkspawn raiding homes on the outskirts of Wildervale. But Weasel Balls Burke said it was the locals _posing_ as darkspawn to rob and pillage from the others."

"What are their real names, Varric?" Bran asked when Finola laughed at the monikers.

"You know I can't tell ya' that," Varric said with a wave of his hand. "In any case, the Wardens have to investigate, even though it sounds like bullshit to me, and word is your sister is among the small group heading there."

A surge of excitement swept through Finola. "How can you be sure she'll be among them?"

"There aren't too many female Wardens from Amaranthine who also happen to be mages. I'd say the odds are good. They say they'll be there in a few weeks."

"Really. They could come here to try to recruit too." Finola looked at Bran, seeking support. He nodded once. "Okay, Varric. Stay on top of this, if you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all. I'd like to see Sunshine again too."

A peaceful warmth spread throughout her body removing what felt like a great weight that had been bearing down on her. But as quickly as relief came, it was cut short by the sound of more footsteps on the stairs.

"I really must announce you, First Enchanter!" Finola heard Clara shout.

"Nonsense," said Dering's breathy, deep voice. "You have already told me the Viscountess is awaiting my arrival."

"Uh, I guess we'll head out then?" Varric said.

"Sorry. Why don't you both come back later this evening?"

"Sure, Hawke." Varric leaned closer before standing up. "Glad you're okay." He looked at her and gave her a teasing wink. "My stories wouldn't sell as well if the main butt of my jokes died."

Touched by his concern, Finola was speechless, but squeezed Varric's arm for the briefest moment before he rose as the First Enchanter walked into the room, proud and defiant. Everyone looked at him. Aveline was the first to greet him, obviously taken by his handsomeness and confident demeanor. Finola sneered.

"First Enchanter Dering, I am Guard Captain Aveline Hendyr. It's such a pleasure to-"

"Your babe is larger than normal," he interrupted as he stared at her stomach. "Be sure to have a mage who specializes in difficult births on hand. It could save your lives."

"Oh, I uh… Well, of course, if it is your professional opinion to do so."

"It is. Now if you'll excuse us, I have precious little time these days and need to see to the Viscountess."

Finola rolled her eyes. "These are my very best friends, Reynard. Not to mention two people who continually strive to make Kirkwall the best it can be."

Varric's brow shot up.

 _Okay, that was a bit much_ , Finola thought.

Dering's expression softened, though it looked false to Finola, and he took Aveline's hand and kissed it.

"Apologies, Guard Captain. I am… not accustomed to the subtleties of small talk. Should you have a moment this week, feel free to come to my office for a proper meeting."

"Yes, I'd like that," she said, a faint blush rushing to her cheeks. "I have some ideas for the Keep you might find appealing as well. How about I stop by tomorrow?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes, splendid. I shall clear my morning schedule to accommodate you," he said with a great, sweeping gesture.

"You'd think she wasn't married and expecting by the way she's fawning over him," Finola whispered to Bran, who had moved to sit beside her.

"He does seem to have the ability to charm the stripes off a tiger."

"He didn't charm me, if that's what you're thinking."

Bran's mouth opened to reply, but Aveline and Varric's chatter caught his ear as they were leaving.

"She smiled at me first, you little shit," Aveline said.

"Bah. She was too busy staring at your _robust_ baby belly."

Finola and Bran exchanged amused smiles, but as Dering approached the bed, Finola sobered quickly.

"And how are you feeling, Viscountess?"

"Fine. What do you want from me," she blurted. "State your terms and end this charade of caring practitioner."

"As I told your… man here, I do not want your money. Well, that is not to say I would refuse a personal donation, but you, my dear Viscountess, have more influence and power than you are willing to recognize."

"Speak plainly, Reynard. What do you _want_ from me?"

"Today? Nothing. A week from now, a month, perhaps a year…." He shrugged, a slight smile turning up his lips. "Who knows? Only time will tell, time and Kirkwall's development. She _will be_ a respected city, a shining example of success and growth. A city that will have marvelous advancements on all fronts, science, education, prosperity for every man, woman, and child. But above all, Kirkwall will have the kind of freedom people only whisper about in the darkened corners of taverns."

"Not _people_. The mages, you mean."

"All inhabitants, including the mages, will benefit from whatever arrangements you and I agree upon in the future. Change is coming and you know it."

"So you plan to oust the Templars and ignore the Chantry? Then it's true that you ally yourself with the Lucrosians, doing what is profitable first, while looking to gain political influence."

"Does your office not do the same?"

"For the people of Kirkwall, not for my personal gain. That's the difference between me and you."

His snickering laugh filled the room. "If that is how you choose to see things, so be it. The results will be the same." Barely sparing Bran a nod, his hands hovered over Finola, moving up and down but not touching her. "Now tell me how you fare. Any pain, numbness, swelling?"

"A little weak, but I'm feeling stronger every minute you stand here lecturing me."

"Good, good. A quick check and I'll be on my way. I have a meeting with Knight-Commander Cullen this afternoon. I'll send him your regards."

"Do _not_ speak for me in my absence, not even to give my regards. I will write him a note."

"As you wish," Dering said amicably as his fingers pressed gently on her head. "We are to discuss the mage housing you so graciously offered to improve yesterday. I'm sure Cullen will be as receptive to the redesign as you are, don't you think?"

"I will not speak for him, but I'm sure he'll see the need."

"Your confrontational tendencies have not eased up one bit, have they? I recommend you seek an outlet for that. It's not healthy, especially now that you've had personal experience with its effects."

"Just tell me how I and the baby are doing."

"Your little girl is well and growing, no worse for the wear at all."

"Girl?" Finola said, but cursed the nervous, high pitch of her voice. "You're sure? It's not too soon to tell?"

"Not for me. She's strong, willful, like her mother. Ah, but it will be such a magical time for you after she is born."

His word choice was not lost on Finola. "Are you suggesting she will be a mage?" The thought had her hand gripping Bran's tighter.

"I am not suggesting anything. All children are magical in their own way, are they not? Besides, it is truly too soon to know for certain. You know the possibility is there though, so keep an open mind." He continued before she could answer. "You have made remarkable progress, Finola. I am quite sure you will be pounding on my door for a more private discussion within the week. Drink all of these," he said, handing at least ten vials to Bran, who, with uncharacteristic tolerance, nodded his thanks. "Eat well, and do not linger in this bed any longer than need be. You are cleared for more rigorous activity, but be mindful of the weakness on your left side. It wouldn't do to have you drop a heavy item on your foot or tumble down the stairs simply because of vanity."

"Point taken," she ground out, irritated with herself that she'd even bothered to listen to all his rubbish.

"If there's nothing more…?" He stared at her, awaiting her profuse gratitude, no doubt. "Well then, I'm off. You know where to find me."

In a graceful bow, his eyes rolled up to look at her. That's when she saw it, the change in his eye color as Clara had mentioned. It was brief, the grayness there only mere seconds before turning back to a deep emerald-green. He smirked arrogantly, knowing she'd understood that what she had just seen was not an illusion.

 _Those eyes… who and what is this man? I've got to get more information on him. Varric and his contacts should do it._ "Goodbye." As he casually walked toward the door, Finola thought she should at least try to sound thankful. "Reynard," she said, her voice soft and melodious, practically like that of a lover. "You have my most sincere thanks for healing me and for seeing to my child's health. Whatever our differences, I do owe you a debt of gratitude."

"That you do, Viscountess." He glanced at Bran. "And do not worry. Kirkwall won't fall apart while you recover. I'll be sure to take good care of her."

With that not so subtle poke at them, he was gone. Finola clenched her teeth and growled. "Help me out of this Maker-forsaken bed, Bran." Before he could arrive at her side, her feet were already touching the floor, and she gripped the bedpost to pull herself up. "To the window." He secured an arm around her waist, leading her forward.

It was a great effort, putting one foot in front of the other, but with pure willpower, and surprisingly little aid from Bran, she made it to the window. A shaky hand brushed the curtain out of the way, and she peered out into the courtyard. "That snake. Just look at him, so pompous, flicking his hair back, like a whore looking to turn a trick."

And at that moment, her heated stare encountered a pair of eyes staring up at her window. No accidental stare, she knew that instantly, knew by the slight tip of his head and lingering gaze. Cold needles pricked her skin and sent chills all over her flesh. He wore no trace of a smile now, only chiseled, rugged features, all sharp angles and planes. Her mouth went dry, and she held her breath, feeling Bran's slight tug to pull her away.

"Come, Fin. Let's get away from the window."

"No." Her gaze didn't falter as she stared down at the powerful mage, and a brilliant smile came to her lips. She put a hand in front of the window, palm facing outward. Slowly, she waved, as if to say "bon voyage" to a sailing boat. Then she very deliberately spoke, hoping he could read lips. "Fuck you and the ship you came in on."

"Not a particularly diplomatic farewell," Bran said with a low chuckle. They watched as Dering laughed aloud, nodding his approval. Then he swiveled on his heels and strode away. "Well, my dear, it seems he admires your spunk."

"And you?" she asked, a devious little smile brightening her face.

"I..." Sentiments caught in his throat, his eyes shining. "Let me show you what I am finding hard to express with words right now."

Then he kissed her, not with a kiss meant to illicit passion, or to seduce or possess. It was a kiss meant to revel in her impudence, a kiss mixed with a heady combination of devotion, loyalty and admiration. It offered the love swelling in his heart, tasting of a deeper recess in his soul where only she dwelled. She hadn't expected it, but it was as gentle as his touch, the sweetness of it almost more than she could bear.

"Bran," she whispered against his lips. "I think we have a rocky road ahead."

"Agreed. But we'll face it together, wherever it leads. Nowhere pleasant, I'm sure."

"We'll see about that." She pressed a kiss to his lips, one as confident and resilient as she felt. "I'm absolutely famished, Bran. And our _daughter_ must be hungry too." She let out a single, nervous laugh. "Care to spoon feed me?" she asked as he led her to a chair.

"Absolutely not. However, I am as thrilled as you are that this child is a girl." He grinned at her, the news seeming to wash away the weariness in his eyes.

"And if she ends up a mage?" she said, scared by the dread in her voice. "We would have to leave."

"No one will take this child from us, Fin. _No one_."

"Right," she said, pushing away the fears and replacing them with renewed fortitude. "On to these delicacies then."

"And while you eat, I will tell you of the strength and endurance exercise regimen I have planned out for you that is sure to have you back in top form swiftly."

"An evil taskmaster has possessed my honorable and loving seneschal! Oh wait, they are one in the same, aren't they?"

"Poke fun if you like. It will not deter me from my strategy." With a mock sniff of disdain, he handed her the bowl of berries and began laying out a wretched daily routine she was to follow to the letter. Walking up and down the main staircase several times a day was just the start. Carrying an increasing number of books while climbing said stairs was next, followed by using the weight and pulley system that Aveline's guards used to bulk up their muscles. The menu of healthy foods and fortifying drinks in between the loathsome exercises offered Finola little comfort, as none of them included anything remotely resembling a chocolate confection. The only part she looked forward to was the nightly massages, massages which were to be given by Bran and Bran alone. Under his deft ministrations, he assured her that the aching muscles would relax, and she would then sing his praises to Andraste herself.

"And if you follow these guidelines precisely, I might consider relaxing you with some of your more favored forms of release," he said with a wink. "Perhaps even an extended round of love-making to end each night."

"Is that all of it?"

"Yes. What do you think?"

"I think you've lost your mind. I hate to exercise and I hate eating healthy foods," she said. "And I think you will be so exhausted acting as my personal trainer that the only hope I will have of any _release_ will be by my own hand." With a beaming smile, she tenderly cupped his cheek. "I also think I'm the luckiest woman in Kirkwall."

"You agree then. Do we need to strike an oath, or shall I trust your good word?"

"Oh, you can trust that I will do everything you've said and more. I have no intention of allowing Dering to get a foothold anywhere in this city without my knowledge."

Yes, she would recover, and no matter what came or went, she would use every ounce of her intelligence to outwit Reynard Dering, whatever his plans.

"Now, hand me a quill and parchment. There are a few things Cullen needs to be made aware of."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a year since I updated this main story for Finola and Bran. All the usual reasons and excuses apply. But Fin and Bran are never far from my mind no matter how long it takes me to write a chapter. Any comments are more appreciated than you can imagine.


	18. Eat, Drink, and Be Wary

Exercise, it seemed, brought out the beast in both Finola and Bran, so much so that _exorcise_ might have been the better word to describe their daily machinations.

"Left, right, left. Left. Left. Right, left, right-"

"Why in bloody blazes do you keep _doing_ that, Bran? Stick with left, right, left, right!"

"I'm keeping you on your toes, Fin. Predictability is a weakness," he chided. "You know that."

"What I know is that _you_ are a slave driver, and _I_ am done with these ridiculous exercises." Three books slid off her arms as she collapsed on the stairs, a dithering pile of nerves and frustration.

"You can trust that I will do everything you've said," he sang in a high-pitched mockery of her earlier profession. "Everything and more!"

"Oh, that's low, Bran."

"You're just beside yourself, aren't you, my dear? There, there," he pacified, petting her hair and tsking. An elbow to his solar plexus stopped all that.

"…like to see _you_ try it." She grumbled a few pointed expletives, then picked up the books, stood, and with one stomping foot in front of the other, ascended the stairs. "Happy?"

"Not quite." The largest tome in his pile landed on the stack she held. "Now I'm happy."

Fifteen minutes later, with sweat dripping from her brow, he called an end to the torture. "Good enough for today."

"Maker, but you're a horrid man."

"If by 'horrid' you mean incredibly devoted, then thank you."

So proud of himself, he was, that she fought an urge to punch him squarely on his arrogant jaw. "If I wasn't a lady…."

"Oh _please_. Dispense with your feigned indignation." He gathered the books in his arms, a curious look on his face. "These _are_ heavy. No wonder you've come so far in the last few weeks, Fin. In fact, I think you should continue with this exercise regimen on a regular basis now that you lead a more sedentary lifestyle."

"'Sedentary'?! You know what else is part of a sedentary lifestyle? No sex!" she said with arms akimbo and a thin-lipped smile. "I'm going to get something to eat. Something like… a truffle or three."

"No, you are not. We have a meeting to go to first."

"What? With whom?"

"Grand Cleric Marina. She would like to discuss the status of the Chantry rebuilding."

"Today? For fuck's sake, why didn't you tell me when we were at the Keep earlier?"

"Because I was only made aware of her request after we came home."

She sighed. "Fine. But after that I want my massage."

"You'll get your massage, and then some," he said, looking at her with desire smoldering in his eyes. As he covered her mouth with his own, he pulled her intoan embrace that was so warm, so strong and loving, she feared her bones might melt.

"Mmm, let's just skip to 'and then some.' Come bathe with me."

A low rumble in his chest spoke of conflicted thoughts. "Lovely as that sounds, the Grand Cleric is a stickler for punctuality. So get your rather odorous body in and out of the tub quickly. And you had better be ready when I come for you."

"I do adore that commanding tone," she purred. "Order me to take my clothes off."

He inhaled deeply and took a step away from her. "A most eager effort, but no."

She reached out, stroking her hands over his chest, relishing the way he sucked in a sharp breath when she moved her hands lower, over his abdomen. "I am at your disposal, Seneschal. Every wicked inch of me," she whispered, biting down on her lip.

His muscles tightened, especially below his belt, reminding him that there were limits to his self-control. "Your attempt to seduce me has failed miserably, Fin. Off with you now."

"Liar." She stared at his face, flushed with arousal, and she laughed devilishly. "That's what you get for teasing me earlier. Maybe you should go soak your _head_ in cold water."

"How very droll you are," he replied, and marched down the stairs, piling the books on a nearby table. "And wear that new azure-colored frock, the one delivered today."

"Really? Isn't that a bit over the top just for a meeting with the Grand Cleric?"

"Not at all," he said, smoothing his clothes with dampened palms. "She has invited us to stay a while and have afternoon tea and pastries with her. It's all very formal, you know."

"I hate tea. And I hate the word 'formal'. Annnnd _,_ I can only imagine how boring the conversation will be." She pouted with all the insolence of a child who didn't want to eat her carrots.

"Boring or not, it is necessary to remain in Her Grace's… good graces."

Finola giggled as he walked away. "Glad to see I'm not the only one who can't think straight right now."

With an optimistic smile, Bran glanced over his shoulder as she climbed the rest of the stairs, taking them one at a time instead of her usual two. He prayed the second half of the day would be far more enjoyable for her than the first half.

* * *

The tedious conversations over tea had finally ended—although the pastries were divine—and Finola just wanted to go home and get the massage Bran had promised. But first they had to accompany the Grand Cleric on a tour of the Chantry, and probably listen to a litany of complaints about the delays, and then they had to look at the new chapel. Maker knew what came next. As they headed for the rebuilt chapel, just off the north transept, Finola kept telling herself, _only a few more minutes, only a few more minutes._ Even more annoying, though, was the way Bran kept an eye on her, as if she were going to run for the door.

"Why are you hovering over me like some bloody angel of death, Bran? I'm behaving appropriately, aren't I?"

"I'm simply taking in your beauty, my dear." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he whispered, "But make sure you don't mutter something unseemly under your breath."

"Mother hen, you are." Bran just smiled at her, no witty comeback at the ready. _What's with him today?_

Regardless of the Grand Cleric's criticisms, Finola was quite amazed at how fast the rebuilding was taking place. Another week or two and it would be finished. But the chapel was dark, no candles lit, the only light coming from a small window high above them.

Grand Cleric Marina outstretched her arms and smiled. "Lovely, isn't it? I had forgotten how beautiful the stained glass looks with the sunlight streaming through it."

"A bit dark, don't you think?" Finola said. "I mean, surely a few candles would add some warmth in here."

No sooner had she spoken, than a Chantry sister began lighting a large candelabra in the corner. The flickering lights cast a gentle glow, but Finola's senses perked up when she heard the sound of soft footfalls shifting about the room.

Out of the shadows, Varric and Merrill stepped forward and stood near Finola and Bran, while Aveline and Donnic stood on the other side, forming a half-circle. Across the floor, Cullen moved next to Aveline, immediately followed by a woman who looked a bit like….

"Beth? Bethany!" Finola flung her arms around her sister, squeezing her tightly.

"It's so good to you see you, sister. We'll catch up later though," Bethany whispered. "Focus on your beloved now," she said, shooing Finola back toward Bran.

"Of course. Yes." Finola's head was spinning, and she realized she was nodding her head like a madwoman. When she looked at Bran's joyful face, her gaze conveyed the gratitude in her heart, but more so, the love she had for him, a love that threatened to reduce her to an emotional puddle, right there in front of everyone. _Think about something else, think about…. the death of the Arishok. Yes!_ To her amusement, that did the trick. Finola turned back to Bethany for a moment, feeling confident and strong again. "You'll be in Kirkwall for at least a couple of days, right?"

"Yes, I will."

"Good."

There was now only a small gap where the circle was not complete. Finola stood in awe, trying to process the moment, to commit it to memory, knowing exactly what was to come _. I cannot believe this is happening._ Her throat constricted and she felt a coughing fit coming on. Bran had planned it all right under her nose. To her, this meant more than any affectionate gesture, any gift, even a box of truffles.

"Bran, how did you do all this without my knowledge? Maker's br-" The Grand Cleric's reprimanding gaze cut her off.

"Waiting for you to get this arranged," he whispered, "was like waiting for the stars to fall. However, in order to make this happen, I did have to appease the Grand Cleric. You won't approve of one particular guest."

A rustling of robes caught her attention and from a far corner, Reynard Dering approached the circle, flanked by Clara, Orana, Bodahn and Sandal. Regal as ever, Dering offered a nod and a slight smile to Finola, who on any other day would have let loose a slew of epithets and profanities at the man. With a quick glance at Bran, she knew that would be a colossal mistake, so she smiled and nodded back. _…that arrogant, supercilious, duplicitous, son-of-a… what is his angle?_

The Grand Cleric cleared her throat. "Take your places, please."

With a joining of hands, the circle was now complete. Finola and Bran stood in the middle with the Grand Cleric, who noticed Finola's discomfort as she eyed the First Enchanter.

"Do not fret on this special day, my child. His presence is merely a token to appease certain groups. It _is_ a public office you hold."

"I understand, Your Grace." Finola shared a mental eye roll with Bran. _The things I have to endure_ …. "A woman in my position can't expect anything less."

"And remember," Her Grace said, "it is only right he is here. Without his healing, _you_ would not be here."

As true as it was, Finola's stomach still churned, though Bran's proud and loving gaze did much to settle the absurd amount of pastries in her stomach. As the Grand Cleric took Finola and Bran's hands and joined them together, she spoke the words Finola had dreamt of as a child when she imagined herself marrying a handsome prince. Thank the Maker the only true prince she'd known was in Starkhaven.

"As we bear witness to the union of Finola Lucinda Hawke and Brannon Maddox Wyndham, we are reminded that there is but one world, one life, one death, just as there is but one god, and He is our Maker. To Him we say, my hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours. For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one."

The Grand Cleric nodded once to Bran. He squared his shoulders and spoke, his voice steady and strong.

"Finola, I stand here today to continue our journey in life, looking forward to our endless days together. I give my all to you, my support for your achievements, my counsel for your problems, my remedies for your ills. For your tears, you have my shoulder, for your voice, my ear, and that shall never change. It is my greatest honor to offer you my hand for companionship and my embrace for our shared love. Now and always."

The guests then saw the unimaginable: tears forming in Finola's eyes. Though she did her best to blink them away, one slipped down her cheek.

"Have you any vows to speak, my dear?" the Grand Cleric asked, stirring Finola from her reverie.

She looked into Bran's eyes, her heart and soul exposed. The strength she'd drawn from his intense gaze many times before imbued her once again. Wiping the tear away, she set her chin high. "I have nothing prepared, so I'll just improvise, I guess." She cleared her throat, holding back more tears trying to fall.

"Bran, you are and have always been my best friend. The day you risked almost certain death by eating my egg stew, I knew we shared a deeper fondness than friendship warranted, something beyond our titles and duties. I just wasn't sure what it all meant at the time. But I kept on laughing with you, crying with you, every moment spent with you more precious than the last." She paused, remembering every vow she'd ever heard and making them her own. "Everything I am and will ever be is because of you. You are my partner, in conflict and in calm, in poverty and in comfort. With you in my life, I will always know home." She leaned in, speaking so low, only the Grand Cleric and Bran could hear her. "I am yours, Bran, although I will never admit to any of this in public again."

"Maker!" the Grand Cleric bellowed with an unexpected grin, "though the darkness comes upon us, we shall embrace the light. We shall weather the storm. We shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

Finola and Bran stared at each other as if they were seeing one another for the first time, a new reality slowly dawning on them, until the Grand Cleric motioned toward them and whispered.

"It is customary to kiss at this point."

Bran leaned in and kissed Finola softly, so softly she felt like she was floating.

When Varric shouted "Huzzah!" warm embraces and hearty congratulations were offered, with Finola spinning like a top amongst the guests. When her eyes fell upon her sister, Finola couldn't help but pull her into an embrace again, nearly trembling with delight as Bethany wished her well.

"Oh Finola, I am so very happy for you. And Bran. It's such a change to see you like this, so happy and relaxed. He's obviously a good influence."

"So you're not mad at me anymore?"

Bethany laughed. "Of course not! I know you had to save my life that day. In hindsight, I would have done the same. Don't give it another thought." Bethany smoothed her hand over Finola's arm with a serene smile. "You know, I've really come to appreciate the Grey Warders far more than I ever thought I could. They are exceptional men and women, Fin. I'm very happy."

Finola let out a long breath. "I'd hoped that was the case. I'm happy for you too. You'll have to fill me in on all the details. I hear that Grey Wardens are quite virile," she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. "Any romantic tales you want to share?"

"Later, sister. For now, it looks like Bran is itching to get to the celebration. We'll talk more. I promise."

When Finola abruptly spun around expecting to see Bran, she instead found Reynard Dering. No amount of muscular control could stop her from facing him, toe-to-toe.

"I offer my most sincere best wishes to you, Viscountness. You are positively glowing." Dering placed a bold, but gentle kiss on her cheek, his eyes shining more than the dim light warranted. "True love never dies, they say. If I know you, you'll test that theory."

She squinted. "And just what the fu-" Before she could finish, Bran grabbed her by the hand and pulled her away. In the flurry of activity that followed, Finola barely had a chance to relish the moment. She was ushered out the looming doors of the Chantry and shuttled toward her home, all the while thinking of Dering's cryptic comment.

* * *

The magnificence that greeted her and Bran when they entered their home was unprecedented. A fire roared in the hearth, and silky swags of pale purple were draped across the windows with care. Dozens of candles lit the room, some on mantels, some suspended from the ceiling, bathing the room in an amber glow. Rose petals floated in silver bowls where more candles lit tables adorned with goblets and bottles of wines and ales from all over Thedas.

Many of the guests were already partaking of the festivities, and Bodahn and Orana hovered about, attending to their needs. Finola recognized neighbors and noteworthy, influential figures in Kirkwall, people she should acknowledge. But Bran's various social skills were on full display, and Finola decided to keep to her usual standoffish demeanor, letting him handle the good wishes and gratitude.

Her mouth began to water when she spied a banquet table stretching across the back wall, the aromas of her favorite foods mingling together and stimulating her taste buds. Roasted capons with cumin beckoned to her, but the braised salmon with clove and dried grapes looked impossible to resist. Stacked loaves of manchet bread for soaking in the onion and almond soup cried out to be handled. Aged cheeses and mulled wine awaited on a side table, to be served after dinner along with raspberry tarts and custard. It was the most delectable spread she had ever seen.

She shouldn't have been surprised, she realized. Bran had impeccable taste, and if he wasn't the Seneschal, he could easily have made a living as a festivity planner. When Bran looked to her for approval, she mouthed the words "I love you" and then reached for a canapé.

As he sidled up to her and fed her a little ball of pastry wrapped in bacon, the voice of the one man in all of Thedas who could make her cringe echoed off the walls, his unrestrained laugh sending a chill down her spine. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin supplied by Bran, knowing that was to be her last bite for a while.

Finola watched as Reynard Dering tossed back a rather large gulp of wine, then smiled broadly.

"Oh, that's rich, Varric. Do tell me more of your exploits with our lovely viscountess. The way you tell a story, every detail is more delightful than the previous one!"

"Damn it, Varric," Finola muttered under her breath. She spun around and saw Dering slap Varric on the back like they were long lost buddies. Peering through narrowed eyes, she moved toward the duo. Her fingers dug into Varric's shoulder with surprising strength.

"Really, Varric, you must learn to tone down all that ardor you have for me. The First Enchanter isn't that gullible... is he?"

Dering looked at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Ah, the blushing bride has graced us with her presence. And how is married life thus far, my lady? As titillating as I've heard?"

"It is, Reynard." Finola felt a snide remark growing on the edge of her tongue. "You should really find a lovely girl of your own, you know. A woman who understands the plight of the mages _and_ is willing to attend to your every need."

"I may have found such a woman. In fact, you know her quite well."

Finola stiffened. "You'd better not be talking about my-"

"Sister!" Bethany came at Finola, arms outstretched, her smile wide as she crossed the floor to hug Finola. "I wasn't planning to surprise you at the service, but Reynard thought it would make for a better present. He's very intuitive that way."

 _Intuitive my ass._ "You should have told me you were coming to Kirkwall, Beth. I would have liked to see you before today."

"Well, I couldn't really announce it, and besides, your husband and Varric would have had me quartered if I let on earlier. They arranged for me to be near Kirkwall, mostly because there are mages here that might be of interest for recruitment into the Wardens. Well, when I went to the Circle to see about that, Reynard insisted I stay as his guest. The Wardens are camped outside the city and Reynard said he would have none of that for an esteemed Grey Warden and sister of the Viscountess. He made special arrangements with the Wardens just for my comfort. It was a very sweet gesture on his part, but even so, he's quite the diplomat."

"He sure is," Finola said with her most believable grin. _Alright now, that's one too many compliments for that snake._

"But truly, your husband's efforts are the real reason I'm here. He wrote so many letters to my Commander, Nathaniel Howe, that Nate couldn't say no!"

"I suspect it took more than a few letters to get you here." Finola panned the room for Bran, but couldn't see him. Maker, how she needed him to rein her in at that moment.

"In any case, you are very lucky to have such a caring man to spend the rest of your life with."

"Truer words were never spoken," Dering said with a simpering smile. "The Seneschal is nothing if not devoted to you, a devotion akin to a shepherd and his sheep."

"I assure you I am not in need of tending, Reynard."

"And I did not intend to infer you were, Finola. Should hungry wolves pass the flock and aim straight for their caretaker, I have no doubt you would beat them back with just a large stick. That is how you prevail most days, isn't it?"

Veiled threats and taunts never sat well with Finola, but on this day, she wouldn't take Dering's bait, no matter how close he dangled it. She held his gaze. _Don't flinch_ , she told herself. He was waiting for her to slip, setting her up, pushing her and forcing her to expose her anger. Why he did so was more of a mystery than an annoyance though.

"It's true, a big stick can get one's point across quite simply," Finola said, twirling her fork around through her fingers. _I should stab him in the neck…._

"It's certainly must be less tiresome to wield a stick than a sword!" Bethany joked, deflecting the tension away from the conversation. "Tell me, Finola, do you plan to take a long trip with Bran anytime soon? Friends of mine in Amaranthine went to Orlais after they were married. To hear them talk, it was all very romantic and lovely."

"I've hardly spoken to Bran since this afternoon so we have no plans yet. We'll see what the coming weeks bring," she said, looking at Dering.

"Ah, here's my beautiful wife." Bran wrapped his arm around Finola's waist—thank the Maker—and pulled her closer, a few steps away from Dering and Bethany. "Enjoying the celebration, my dear?"

"Very much. I don't know how you did it, but thank you for getting Bethany here. It's wonderful to see her again, and she really seems to be enjoying her status as a Warden." She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Believe me, that's a load off my shoulders. I feared she'd still resent what happened in the Deep Roads years ago." Finola glanced at her sister, who seemed charmed by Dering. "I don't like the attention he's giving her though. I will have to speak to her and warn her of that man. Clearly he can charm the skirts off a Chantry sister."

A low rumble of laughter came from Bran, part amusement and part concern in his tone. "Bethany is more than capable of seeing through him. As a Warden, she has seen far more than you think. Perhaps if you just tell her of your illness and healing, see if your story and his align… though I'm sure they will."

Finola sighed. "Well, I'll speak to her in a little while just to be clear."

"Right now," he said turning toward Finola with a gleam in his eye, "I'd like to escort you to our chambers for a moment. I have something to give you and I can't wait until everyone has left."

"Ooh, a present? How impatient of you," she teased. "But Bran, really, after organizing all this, you have more for me?"

"For us, really. Just come along."

They excused themselves briefly and made it upstairs, dodging a few guests who wanted their attentions. When they arrived in their room, Bran pulled open the drawer of his desk and grabbed a rolled up parchment.

"Here. Look at this."

"This is my present? A roll of parchment? What is it, some sort of marriage decree? A list of my duties as a reverent and submissive wife?"

"No fits of pique, Fin. Just look at it."

The expression on Bran's face was utterly charming, if a bit anxious. For the life of her, Finola could not imagine what it was, but as she unfurled the roll, her lips parted with a quick breath. "These are plans for the nursery." She gazed up at him, tears shining in her eyes. "Oh, Bran. All this for our daughter."

"I know you're concerned that we're not prepared for the baby, so I thought seeing the plans, knowing it's all in the works, would ease your mind. I've already contracted the workers and purchased most of the supplies needed for the bassinet, the furniture, wall and floor treatments. All you need to do it pick out some colors and patterns."

"Maker's breath…."

"I know you've been critical of my decorating style in the past, though I can't imagine why." Her astonishment had Bran beaming, almost gloating. "However, nothing is set in stone, and you can change anything about the décor or furnishings you'd like."

"Every detail is here, from a toy box to shelves for baskets, and even a desk for me."

"You'll be in there more than anywhere in the house, I imagine. I thought a desk would come in handy for moments when the baby is sleeping in your arms."

"Do you really think I'm so much of a workhorse that I'd need a desk in here?"

"No, but I do think Dering's maneuverings will keep your nose to the grindstone far more than we suspect."

"But this must all cost a fortune!"

"We have the money, Fin. Don't be such a miser. Aren't you happy with the plans?"

"I am. I really am." She hadn't meant to seem ungrateful, but he spent money like it grew on trees. "It's perfect Bran. I love it all. And you are too damn thoughtful, you know that?"

He took the compliment with a nod that led into a kiss. Their lips met gently and remained together for endless seconds before passion stoked them both, drawing more than titillation from Finola.

"Later, my dear. We have guests to attend to. Let's make the most of this evening."

Her face fell a little. "You say that as if we'll never have another like it, though I'm inclined to agree. I have a sinking feeling Kirkwall is not where we will remain forever and the idea of having to leave…" Her hands went to her belly, a frown creasing her lips. "She'll never go to the Circle if she has an affinity for magic. We'd have to leave fast too. And _that's_ why I hate to see all our money being spent on parties and wall treatments!"

"We have enough coin. Please trust me in that." He looked away for a moment, his eyes shifting back and forth, and then he took her hand and kissed it. "I've kept something from you, nothing shocking or sordid, just… I've had a small business venture on the side for many years, all on the up and up, that I started long before I met you. It's a profitable business I began with Madame Lusine." Finola's eyebrow shot up. "It's not a brothel, but a vineyard and winery, in Antiva. I've money coming in on a regular basis, so please stop worrying about our financial status."

"I wondered what you had going on with her." She didn't admit it, but the news of a business relationship with Lusine and nothing more was a relief. "Well, kudos to you for thinking ahead, though I'm not surprised."

"But none of that matters, nor do the things we can buy. It's all just padding, a luxury. What we share, what we've always shared, reaches beyond those vows, the guests, this party, the money. Far beyond what is or isn't happening in Kirkwall. What matters is this, right here and now. Me and you and our daughter. The Void take everything else."

"Do you really mean that? Could you leave it all and just….disappear?"

"Yes. And I've said that to you several times before. I need nothing more than my family, no matter what we face or where we face it."

Her head shook slowly, equal parts disbelief and deep love for this man willing to throw it all away for the love and safety of his family. "You'd really give it all up for me?"

He nodded, though her repeated question wrenched his insides. How could she still have doubts about him?

Before he could respond, she said, "You know what? I'd give it all up for you too. I've never trusted any man." She swallowed, finding the words hard to speak, even now. "Not one. Until you." He pressed his lips to her forehead as she spoke. "Thank you for this, for tonight. For having faith in me." She smiled. "I feel… wonderful inside."

Bran let out a warm laugh of genuine amusement and affection. At the sound of it, she felt her heart flip-flop in her chest as she grinned like an idiot.

"Finola, my dear, never change." He took her hand, gently tugging her toward the door. "Now, let's go see who is making a spectacle of themselves."

They stood at the top the staircase and took in the scene. Many guests had already begun to feel the effects of their beverages, and the room pulsed with excitement. Varric, Aveline, Donnic, and Merrill were comparing notes as they discreetly pointed at various guests. Trent Perflounder, the best fishmonger in Kirkwall, had picked up a fiddle and was playing a lively jig as people took turns dancing in the center of a circle of guests. Guy de Chiché, the wealthy importer, was shoveling food into his mouth like it was his last day on earth. Those who weren't eating, drinking, or dancing were conversing in the corners of the room, Cullen's corner being the most populated one.

"I can only imagine what Cullen is saying to hold their attention. Dirty limericks I hope," she said with a giggle. "There once was a girl from Nevarra…."

"Whose habits were highly immoral." Bran shrugged at his less-than-rhyming addition.

"For the price of a coin, she allowed three to join…."

"One fore, one aft, and one oral!" Utterly amused by their shared limerick, Bran let go a raucous laugh, only to be punched in the arm by Finola. "Oh, come now, that wasn't so dirty."

"No, not that, Bran. That!" she said, pointing her finger toward the entryway. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Finola went still as she watched Dering and Bethany from the top of the stairs. Their lips were locked in a long, lingering kiss, and his hands were wrapped tightly around her. Bran grabbed Finola's hand in a pre-emptive strike.

"Let me go, Bran," she said calmly. "I won't do anything rash. I just need _that_ to stop this instant."

"She's a grown woman, Fin. Leave it be for now. At least they're both here and not off somewhere alone."

"Not yet," she said. "I will not allow that bastard to use her in _any_ way, no matter the cost."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he meant to get a rise out of you, and in that, he has succeeded. Beat him at his own game, Fin, but keep your head. Besides, Bethany is far too smart not to see through him. Have a little faith."

"Fine, but I'm going to make sure she stays here tonight."

When Dering finally loosened his grip on Bethany, his eyes came to rest on Finola for a moment.

"Look at him. He knows I'm watching. There's something so sinister about him, but I can't quite get a handle on it." They slowly descended the stairs, and Finola weaved her way around the guests. "But I'll figure him out," she said as they approached Dering and Bethany.

"Well, you two are certainly acting like a couple of teenagers."

Bethany stepped back, smiling. "Oh, I guess the wine has gone to my head!" she exclaimed with a secret wink at Finola.

"We were just reveling in the moment," Dering said as he smoothed his robes. "Caught up in the warmth and love surrounding us here on such a happy day."

"Well, as lovely as that sentiment is, my sister seems to be a bit flushed. I think she could use a glass of water. Be a gentleman and fetch it for her, hm?"

"Of course," he said amicably, but a sharp nod of his head said otherwise. "I shall be back post-haste, ladies."

"Oh don't rush on my account, Reynard," said Finola, beaming as he looked at her suspiciously. The almost violent swish of his robes had Finola feeling quite smug.

She turned to Bethany. "Do tell, Beth, what spell has the First Enchanter cast over you to make you so pliant in his arms? Is his kiss really all that disarming?"

"Oh, Finola, don't be silly. We were simply having a little fun. It's nothing serious."

"I should hope not."

"I am not the innocent girl you remember, Fin. It has been a long time, you know."

"Too long." Finola took Bethany's hands and held them. "Listen Bethany, it would mean a great deal to me if you stay here for the duration of your visit."

"Oh, I couldn't! And it's your first night married. I couldn't impose that way."

"Nonsense. It is no imposition," Bran said. "Truly. Fin and I both want you here for a visit. After all, you're to be an aunt in a few months, and Fin could use some help deciding on furnishings for the nursery." He paused for a moment, then his eyes lit up. "Yes, and just think of all the girl talk you've both missed out on for so long!"

 _Has he lost his mind? When have I ever said I liked to talk about the foolish things women talk about behind closed doors?_ "Yes, I'd like to hear more about the Wardens and their heroic deeds and all about the romantic tales I've heard," Finola said as enthusiastically as she could, secretly adoring Bran's quick wit, and at the same time, plotting her revenge for suggesting _girl talk_. "Please say you'll stay."

"Well, Reynard may be offended…."

"Fuck Dering. Well, not literally. But he has plenty to keep him occupied. He'll get over it."

"You really don't like him, do you?"

"No, I do not, but that's a story for another time." Then her smile glowed with contentment. "So it's settled. You're staying. I'll have Orana make up your room, and we'll have a lovely visit," Finola prattled on.

"All right. How can I refuse my sister on her wedding day?"

"You can't." Finola and Bethany embraced, and all the years of distance between them disappeared, leaving them as they once were—sisters and best friends.

Dering interrupted their moment with his usual brazenness, practically using his body to separate them. "For you, my dear. A refreshing glass of ice water." He then turned to Bran, who was lost in a moment of reverie as he watched Finola and Bethany. "You've spared no expense here, I see. What a relief it must be to have so much financial security that you could offer an extravagant thing such as ice for your guests."

"Well, you know what they say about a coin saved," Bran replied.

"And the Viscountess is notoriously frugal as well." Dering's dark brows tightened as his eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared slightly, as if he were a hound smelling a rabbit. "You two are stuffing your mattresses with money no doubt."

"We give quite a bit to charitable organizations here in Kirkwall," Finola asserted as she crossed her arms. "We also make sure every clinic in Kirkwall has all the supplies and funding they need to keep our citizens healthy. We send food to the shelters, blankets and clothes as well. We buy metals for the smiths in the Guard…Really, I could go on for hours." She leaned in and met him eye-to-eye. "Make sure to get a copy of all our expenditures and donations the next time you're at the Keep. I'm sure you'll find it extremely enlightening."

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "On that note, I think it is time to take my leave. Thank you for a lovely evening." He turned slightly, his shoulder now in Finola's face. "Bethany? Are you ready?"

"Oh, well…. Actually, Reynard, I'm going to stay with Finola tonight. We have a lot to catch up on."

"I see." His eyes flashed with the briefest of flames, but he regained a civil tone immediately. "I will have your things sent over here tonight then. Enjoy your visit, my dear. There's nothing more important than family."

"Oh, I'm glad you understand, Reynard."

"I understand very well. But please do stop by before you venture off to lands unknown again. My door is always open to you." Bethany nodded sweetly, and a tender kiss was placed on her cheek before he offered a low bow to his hosts. "Viscountess. Seneschal. Bethany, dear." With another flourish, he opened the door and left. As the door closed, a cold breeze passed by Finola, though it was warm outside. She shivered, wondering if it was just her imagination or if Dering was some sort of evil incarnate. _I must figure out what Dering is all about._

"Honestly," Bethany said, "Reynard seems like a true gentleman. I can't imagine why you hold him in such disregard. He did save your life, after all."

"Don't remind me," Finola said. "I am glad to see that a few of his feathers were ruffled anyway."

"Yes," Bran said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But never mind him. Let's go celebrate, ladies."

Finola shook off thoughts of demons and possession, determined to forget all about Dering for at least one night. "I agree! Come on, Beth. Remember that dance we used to do when we were kids, the one where I held your foot and spun you in a circle? I think we should try that!"

"Gads, what an utter joy this will be to see," Bran said in his most appalled tone.

"Oh stop. You just wait until I get you in on the action," Finola told him. "It'll be fun!"

"Clearly your idea of fun and mine are miles apart, my dear." But he let her pull him toward the music anyway.

Finola was so happy to have her sister back, to be celebrating their marriage with her friends, Bran couldn't refuse her now. For that instant, living in the moment with her was freeing. _Perhaps she is more centered than I am._ The world spun around her, a world mired in conflict, with people coming in and out of her life all the time, but she was always at the center of it, always steady, even if she didn't realize it most days.

"Get over here, Bran!" Finola waved at him from the circle where the fiddle music sang out.

 _Maker, but she is a sight to behold._ The edginess they both felt before Dering left had faded. Finola's eyes sparkled as she swayed to the music with movements light and airy. Her laughter rang in his ears as the tempo picked up, and she twirled around with abandon. But her smile was his true reward, a smile that held a spark of mischief, and a loving promise of things to come.

Bran knew what he had to do then. He would hook his arm with hers and spin her around to the rhythm of the song, surrendering to the movement of their bodies, dancing as if they were naked savages around a bonfire. The astonished look on her face as he offered his best moves would surely make the snickers and taunts at the Keep more tolerable tomorrow.

As a server walked by with drinks, Bran downed a glass of Antivan Red, confident in his ability to prove that he was, indeed, a man who enjoyed a good time.

Squaring his shoulders, he parted the crowd with authority. "Make way, you fools, and let me show you how it's done!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I haven't updated this in a year. My apologies. Life is just too chaotic at times to set a normal writing routine. But I will finish this, come hell or high water!


End file.
